


circuit breaker

by wolfsupremacist



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Drug Addiction, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-15 21:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 93,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15421533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsupremacist/pseuds/wolfsupremacist
Summary: SMRobotics M-Media Release Excerpt:Introducing KAI™ v8.8!SEOUL - Business Wire - Apr. 24, 2045 (TradeCode: SMR)Following the massive success of previous models TAEMIN™ v7.2 and MINHO™ v6.4, SMRobotics is proud to introduce to the public its newest addition to their line of premium Personal Living Companions: KAI™.As with all previous models, syncing with M-Hub systems is a breeze, ensuring quick and easy start-up. KAI™ also comes with his own built in ear-piece for added security and simplicity.Consumers can expect the same level of high autonomy and unique personality that they've come to expect from past PLC models. All KAI™ models are special, down to individual fingerprints. Supremely constructed and with the highest capacity for emotional intelligence yet, customers are sure to be satisfied by this latest model.KAI™: Your New Best Friend!





	1. one

Chanyeol goes to the storefront almost every evening.

Amidst the purple, red, blue light streaming, breaking through the darkness of downtown like shattering glass, he stands there, and he looks. A little slack-jawed. A lot awed.

There are eight models, but they release new ones every couple months or so now, since the first couple girls, Irene and Joy, got so popular that they had to restock. The latest one, Kai: that’s the one Chanyeol looks at.

His mouth. His eyes. He looks so real.

There’s an inactive model in the window, but it’s the hologram demonstration that Chanyeol watches. He knows it by heart. Knows the way Kai claps happily at a joke, mouth open wide as he screeches out his laugh. The way he pouts, cheeks puffing and lips pushed out. His programmed aegyo: the finger hearts and the flower face with his wiggling fingers and his little rendition of gwiyomi. Chanyeol watches, enraptured. He doesn’t even really _like_ aegyo, but he watches Kai do it all the same.

It’s raining, that evening. The rain falls all around him, rumbling off the umbrella he holds above him. It tap-dances on the grimy, broken concrete. Everything is dark blue.

Not everything. Kai isn’t. Kai is lined with pink and gold, amber in the navy night.

 _KAI,_ the window flickers, LEDs pouring out red light.

 _1,000,000_ _₩,_ it flickers again. Chanyeol blinks.

The number emerges from the window, hologrammed out into the world and Chanyeol watches as the rain water slices through it.

 _GET HIM TODAY,_ the message tries to say, but Chanyeol can barely read it at all.

 

 

⚠

 

“It’s creepy,” Sehun says, pouring a brown-colored liquor into a glass. Chanyeol doesn't even know what it is, but he'll drink it. 

“What’s creepy about it?” Chanyeol says.

“Literally everything about it,” Sehun says.

“You’ve got one,” Chanyeol argues.

“I’ve got a _caretaker_ android,” Sehun says. “Who cooks and cleans for me because I’m a waste of space. I’m not trying to fuck my maid.”

“I think that’s a kink for a lot of people,” Chanyeol smirks.

“Not funny,” Sehun says, and he takes one of the glasses and hands it to Chanyeol. “I’m trying to confront you. About your obsession.”

“It’s hardly an obsession,” Chanyeol says.

He takes a sip. Sehun watches him, eyes narrowed.

“Cara,” Sehun calls.

The girl in the corner of the room, absently folding clothes, springs to life.

“Yes?” she answers.

“Can you define obsession for me?” Sehun says.

“Of course,” Cara replies happily. “Obsession. Noun. A persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling.”

“Very funny,” Chanyeol replies.

“Thanks, Cara,” Sehun says.

The lights from the girl’s eyes dim slightly, and she goes back to her laundry.

“It’s too much,” Sehun says. “Like, what do you need a companion for? If you wanna get your dick wet, just buy a sex doll.”

“I don’t want a sex doll,” Chanyeol says.

“Like, where would you even stick it in one of those things?” Sehun thinks aloud, completely ignoring Chanyeol. “Think about how messy the cleaning would be. And honestly, how good could the AI be? Oh my fucking god, the dirty talk. _Please, stick it in my serial port, father._ ”

“I don’t want to continue this line of dialogue,” Chanyeol says.

“Too bad,” Sehun says.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun looks up from his drink to glare at Chanyeol again.

“Fine, he’s pretty, but that’s not the point,” Chanyeol says. “I just--I mean, you know how I am.”

“Lonely,” Sehun nods. “Depressing as fuck.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend,” Chanyeol says.

“This  _is_ being your friend,” Sehun says. “Don’t buy him. It’s gonna fuck you up.”

Sehun grabs his hand. It’s the first time anyone’s touched Chanyeol in a while.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, even with a million won burning a hole in his pocket.

 

⚠

 

When Chanyeol was only a bit younger than he is now, he was pretty popular. He's decent looking. He's tall. He has a good smile, or so he had been told. He was loud enough for long enough that people began to mistake it for being funny. His social circle was wide, and his evenings were booked.

He started taking honey when he was nineteen, when it was something for neon-colored nights spent wrapped in someone’s arms, dripping salt from his pores and dancing to the electro-metal mixes and screaming out his affections with a dry, crackling throat.

It only took a couple months before he was a mess.

No one wants to hang out with a mess. No one wants to be around someone who can’t handle it. Who gets lost in it. Who embarrasses them.

The only person who still cared by the end of it was Sehun, and even he had limits. Chanyeol didn’t blame him. Sehun had a life of his own, had his own stuff to deal with. There was only so much a person could handle.

Chanyeol shit his brains out more times than he could count, shaking and sweating and unable to see straight as he cried, moaning in pain. The only thing that made him feel better was honey, so he’d get more. Start it all over again.

One time, the _l_ _ast_ time, Sehun found him collapsed on the floor of his bathroom. Sehun held his nose and grimaced as he walked over the dirty tile. Sehun told him that sero-syndrome was thick in his head.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Sehun said, cleaning him up. “You gotta stop. I’m not doing this shit again, okay? You have to _stop_.”

“I know,” Chanyeol had said. “I know.”

It had taken a while, a year and change of stumbling along the road to recovery, but he was sober now for three years. Well, sober- _ish._ Off honey, at least, and that was a big step.

The friends he used to know were all deep in their own addictions now. Chanyeol saw them sometimes, leaning against the brick walls next to noodle carts, rubbing at their cracking lips and sticking out their wrists. Hoping someone, _anyone_ , would touch their own to it. Even 1000 won would be enough for them.

Sometimes, Chanyeol considered it. Mostly, he just watched them as he walked past, same as they’d done to him.

Sehun was the only friend he had left.

 

⚠

 

He’s a dead man walking.

The next day after work, as the red sun falls and the haze over the city turns from orange to blue, Chanyeol goes to the store. Instead of standing outside and watching the demonstration as he usually does, he goes in and stands in line.

The girl in front of him is talking to the cashier, scheduling a tune-up for her earpiece. Chanyeol waits. Looks around. Sees the floor versions of the current models. Sees Kai. He shivers a little.

“Thank you,” the cashier says, waving the girl off. “See you next week.”

“Thank you,” she says, offering a quick bow.

Chanyeol steps forward.

“How may I help you?” he says.

“I’d, um…,” Chanyeol stumbles, even though he practiced in the mirror this morning. “I’d like to purchase one of the PLCs.”

The man’s eyes brighten.

“Excellent,” he says, and he takes out a pad from under the desk. He pokes at it, holograms pop up. “Do you want to look through the current models, or do you have your mind made up already?”

He starts swiping through the air, pictures of the men and women flipping like pages in a book.

“I think I want Kai,” Chanyeol says.

“Ah,” the man says, “he’s selling well. Give me just a moment, and I’ll go get him from the back.”

He presses his wrist against a reader behind him and then heads back behind the automated sliding doors that open.

When he reemerges, Kai is holding his hand.

“You can inspect before final purchase, if you’d like,” the man offers.

“No, he, uh, he looks good,” Chanyeol says.

“Excellent,” the man says. “And we do take paper, if that’s a concern.”

“Yeah, uh,” Chanyeol says, reaching into his back pocket. “I hope that’s okay.”

“No problem at all,” the man says, and he touches the pad quickly, typing something in before turning his attention back to Chanyeol. “One million.”

Chanyeol flips through the bills even though he’s counted them precisely seven times today alone. Twenty 50,000 bills. Laid out on the countertop.

“Excellent,” the man says, taking the money, and letting it shuffle down into the sorter. “Thank you very much for your purchase.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“He comes just like this,” the man says. “If you’ll…”

And he holds out his hand, asking Chanyeol for his wrist. Chanyeol gives it to him and watches as the man touches Chanyeol’s wrist to Kai’s.

“He’ll follow you now,” the man says. “He’s basically sleep-walking until you activate him.”

He slides Chanyeol a pre-packed bag over the countertop.

“Everything you’ll need to know is in the manual,” the man says. “Plus, he comes with some common replacement items you might need. They're pretty good about self-repair, though, so no need to do it yourself.”

“Great,” Chanyeol says. “Um, thank you.”

He bows.

“No, thank you,” the man says. “Have a good day. Hope you enjoy!”

Chanyeol starts to walk away and finds that Kai, lifeless eyed Kai, follows.

Despite this, Chanyeol grabs him by the hand.

Leads him home.


	2. two

They walk into the apartment, Chanyeol still holding Kai's hand.

Chanyeol gently sits him down on the couch. Kai’s face is still lifeless, his body autonomous.

He takes the instruction booklet out of the bag. In big, bold, blue LED letters on the front cover, a bit hot to the touch, it reads:

 _KAI™_ _v8.8_ _  
__YOUR PERSONAL LIVING COMPANION_

Chanyeol flips past the table of contents, starts looking for the activation steps. There, underneath the bolded **_ACTIVATION GUIDE,_ ** there’s a mini-micro embedded in the page and a little blurb. He reads:  

 _Thank you for your purchase of KAI™_ _v8.8! KAI™ is your fully automated, fully conscious and intuitive living companion that learns to better suit your needs over time._

_Hyper-intelligent with state of the art empathy, KAI™ is so human that you’ll forget he’s an android! KAI™ eats, sleeps, and drinks just as you do, and this verisimilitude will serve to aide you in building a lifelong connection with him!_

_Please listen to the presentation and read all instructions before proceeding with activation, and when finished, keep this manual and the provided mini-micro in a safe place._

_Use the space below to record your individual serial number for your future reference._

And there’s a little white box.

Chanyeol scrambles to grab a pen, rifling through his drawers before he finally finds one.

Gently, he sits next to Kai and takes Kai’s wrist in his hand. He turns it. His skin feels so real, it’s almost unbelievable that he’s an android.

Printed in clear black ink is the sequence _K45880114._

Chanyeol scribbles it in the book diligently before continuing to read.  

_You’re now ready to begin the presentation! Insert the provided mini-micro in your M-Hub™ in-home services Secure Mini-Micro slot to get started!_

Chanyeol takes the little chip from the paper and goes to the wall. The SMM slot is small, and Chanyeol fumbles with the mini-micro before finally inserting it properly. The hub chimes to life, hologramming out a virtual screen that reads _KAI™ ACTIVATION PRESENTATION_.

Underneath, there’s a little rectangular box that says _proceed,_ so Chanyeol taps it, momentarily alarmed to hear a song chiming out afterwards. He scrambles to sit down on his couch.

A girl appears. She has long dark hair, a pleasant smile. A kind face. Chanyeol immediately recognizes her: she's Irene.

“Hello!” she greets him, full of blue light. “Thank you again for your purchase. I’m Irene, and I’m here to help you get started!”

Chanyeol opens his booklet back up to the listed steps.

Irene walks over to a version of Kai, lifeless like the one sitting next to Chanyeol.

“Before you proceed with activation,” Irene says, “please ensure that Kai is in a comfortable seated position, with hands placed on lap. Please also ensure that nothing is blocking Kai from your M in-service hub, as this may affect syncing.”

Chanyeol watches as Irene gently moves Kai’s hands to his lap before she continues.

“To begin, press the small black button under Kai’s left ear to start calibration,” she says, and she follows her words, stretching out a delicate hand and tapping the button. “Calibration may take up to fifteen minutes, and your patience is appreciated! Please do not press the button a second time. If you have problems with this step, please contact the manufacturer directly through your ear piece.”

She smiles happily.

“Let’s speed up this process, shall we?” she says, tapping her wrist even though there’s no watch there. “Be back soon!”

She snaps her fingers and disappears. A cartoon clock appears where she once stood, ticking through the quarter of an hour fast.

After the clock hits fifteen, it falls through the floor with a loud  _ding_ , and she reappears.

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” she says. “And now we’re ready to proceed.”

She takes Kai’s hand in hers.

“Calibration is complete when a flashing orange light appears under Kai’s left index fingernail. Press the fingernail gently, and hold for fifteen seconds.”

She demonstrates for him, smiling as she presses down on Kai’s nail.

“When the flashing orange light turns to a steady orange light, you may release,” she says. “Now it’s time to think about names! If no individualized name is preferred, you can skip this step. Otherwise, press Kai’s earpiece and follow the prompts accordingly.”

“Please note that if you change your mind, this step isn’t permanent,” she continues cheerfully. “Kai will be able to change his name at any point in future. Just help by following the steps given through his earpiece.”

Chanyeol breathes out.

“We’re in the home stretch,” she smiles. “Finally, press your wrist to Kai’s and wait for the orange light to turn blue.”

She takes his wrist in her hand and gingerly presses her wrist to his.

“When the light turns blue, that’s it! Your sync is complete!” she says. “Kai should automatically connect to your in-home services so as to quickly and efficiently learn things like your birthday, ID number, blood type, medical history, food and drink preferences, and even your favorite kinds of media! Within just a few short months, Kai will become acutely attuned to your person, becoming the best friend you’ve always dreamed of!”

Her smile is infectious, and Chanyeol finds himself smiling back up at her.

“Please remember to read the instruction manual in full so as to best understand your new friend,” she says. “And once again, thank you for purchasing one of our Personal Living Companions! Goodbye!”

She waves, and stupidly, he waves back.

He stares down at his booklet as the blue light of the hologram recedes into nothing. Sure enough, the activation guide spells out almost exactly what Irene told him.

But then, under, in a much more fine print:

_All PLC™ models have a fail-safe module installed. However, should problems arise, please contact manufacturer through your earpiece. In case of technical emergency, your PLC™ has a command for factory reset. Turn to page 24 (“No Harm Done™ Protocol”) for information on the execution of this procedure._

Chanyeol huffs a breath, flipping the pages through his fingers quickly. He goes to his drink machine and waits as it dispenses an energy drink, resigned to complete his reading.

 

⚠

 

Within the hour, he’s listened to the presentation and read the manual front to back three times over. And his alacrity is so distressingly out of character that he feels like himself years ago. It’s been forever since he’s been so excited about something. So distant in the rear view that it feels foreign to him.

He puts Kai’s hands flat on his lap.

Then, he pauses.

Maybe Sehun was right. Maybe this isn’t what he needs. Maybe he should take Kai back. Try to get a refund.

He rubs his face, rubs the sleep from his eyes. He just...he needs _something._

Chanyeol leans in close, searching for the little black button under Kai’s ear. He presses it quickly, and then he sits back and holds his breath.

Chanyeol stays still for what feels like a year. He doesn’t want to get up or look away. Doesn’t wanna miss the light. Sure enough, within ten minutes, the light under Kai’s fingernail starts to blink at him.

He takes Kai’s hand in his, presses down on the nail softly. He counts in his head, and when he hits ten, the light goes solid, just like the manual said it would.

He breathes out shakily.

 _Name_.

He hadn’t thought about it that much. Chanyeol’s stomach aches painfully at the thought of naming someone else. It feels too much like ownership, like parenthood. He wants it to be more...mutual. Less...unbalanced.

He skips the name. Maybe Kai will think up a name for himself. Maybe he’ll stick with Kai. Chanyeol doesn’t care one way or the other.  

Chanyeol flips Kai’s wrist in his hand and touches his own wrist to it. A pleasant noise, a tone that sounds like a wind-chime, peals out.

And Kai...he wakes.

He turns to Chanyeol.

He looks just like the model from the store, the way he smiles gradually, like it blooms on his face. His eyes are dark brown, flecks of amber and gold. So pretty.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Kai.”

“Hi,” Chanyeol says. “Um. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. What’s your name?” Kai asks, smiling softly.

Chanyeol frowns. Maybe the sync didn’t work properly.

“Don’t you know it already?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai rolls his eyes.

“Of course I do,” Kai says. “But it’s polite to introduce yourself anyway.”

“R-right,” Chanyeol says. “I’m Chanyeol.”

“It’s nice to meet you, _Chanyeol_ ,” Kai says, clearly happy with the clarification. And he sticks out his hand. Like a...like a person would.

Chanyeol’s mind is so fucked.

He didn’t know exactly what he was imagining. Something colder, maybe? Something more clinical? He’s talked to a few older androids, ones that work front desk at stores or restaurants. They’re not like this. They have rote responses. Pre-programmed and polite. Their artificial intelligence is just that: artificial.

He didn’t expect this at all. Nothing so immediately _human._

Chanyeol shakes Kai’s hand.

“Do you, um,” Chanyeol says, “do you want a tour? I mean, it’s kind of small, I’m sure you could figure it out by yourself, but…”

His eyes are bright like dawn. Chanyeol is in deep shit, and he has no one to blame but himself.

“I’d love a tour,” Kai smiles.

 

⚠

 

“This,” Chanyeol says, pushing open the door, “will be your room.”

Kai wanders in, spins in a circle. It’s small, but Kai seems pleased enough, pressing the button on the wallpad to brighten the room artificially. It’s bright white, but then he presses the button again. Yellowed like dawn. Another press. Blue like twilight.

Kai taps the button again, and the lights are shut off. When he moves across the pad to tap a different button, the shade covering the window is raised, displaying the view of the street. It’s all urban decay, but Chanyeol could see it being pretty if looked at through the right eyes. New eyes. Fresh ones. Ones that haven’t grown weary of it.

“I like it,” Kai says, grinning. “You know, I’ve never had my own room before.”

Chanyeol coughs.

“That was a joke,” Kai says. “Because I was just activated.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “It was a good joke.”

Kai looks at him quizzically.

“Are you okay?” Kai asks him.

“What?” Chanyeol says.

“I asked if you were okay,” Kai says. “You’re all…”

And he makes a strange gesture with his arms.

“All what?” Chanyeol asks.

“All stiff,” Kai says.

He walks over to Chanyeol, puts his hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders. Massages them quickly. Chanyeol is frozen in place, feet concrete and lead on the floor.

“Relax,” Kai commands. “Your average resting heart rate is recorded as 76 beats per minute. Right now, you’re at…”

He waits for a moment.

“112,” Kai says.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kai says. “It’s normal to be a little nervous around new people.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Chanyeol says.

Kai walks over to the bed, flops down on it and smiles up at Chanyeol.

“Treat me like you would treat any other person,” Kai says. “It doesn’t have to be awkward.”

“Awkward is kind of my specialty,” Chanyeol says, and he shuffles his feet, staring at his shoes.

Why would he do something like this? It was so obviously a bad idea. He should have listened to Sehun, should have just wallowed in despair until his body couldn’t take it anymore and it just disintegrated into dust particles.

“Hey,” Kai says, jarring him out of thought.

Chanyeol looks up.

“It’s okay,” Kai says, reassuring. “We’re going to become good friends.”

“You think?” Chanyeol asks.

“Of course,” Kai says cheerfully. “You like anime.”

Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut tight, bites his lip to stop from laughing.

“That’s better,” Kai says, standing up and brushing off the bed. “Okay, now show me the shower. Do you have one of those waterfall ones? With the presets for temperature?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

He leads Kai to the shelf, hands him a remote.

“You can turn it on from bed,” Chanyeol says. “Let it warm up while you wake up.”

“We’re going to be _very_ good friends,” Kai says, smiling.

 _God,_ Chanyeol hopes.

 

⚠

 

Kai sits on Chanyeol’s couch, bare feet resting on the coffee table as he swipes through the air. He already looks like he belongs.

“Princess Fatality?” Kai asks.

“Uh,” Chanyeol says, poking at his drink dispenser. “If you want.”

“You can tell me if you like something, you know,” Kai says, continuing to swipe through. “There’s a lot for me to watch. I need some recommendations.”

“Princess Fatality is my favorite,” Chanyeol admits, even though Kai already knows it.

“Then we’ll start with that,” Kai says, and he swipes back a couple paces, the animated cover settling blue in the air.

Chanyeol watches as Kai taps a couple of the hologrammed buttons, and then the living room and kitchen are filled with the familiar opening music as the intro begins playing. Chanyeol smiles, turns back to the drink machine. He taps _tea,_ then _green. Start_.

It starts sputtering out into the mug below, and Chanyeol turns back to the living room to watch Kai watch.

“Oh, it’s pretty,” Kai says. “I love the art style.”

Chanyeol smiles to himself. It _is_ pretty, of course: light pinks and jade greens and a softness in its ferocity. Still, it’s nice to hear someone agree with him.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I like it a lot.”

“What’s the story?” Kai asks over the music.

“You’ll find out,” Chanyeol says.

“Come on,” Kai chides. “A brief synopsis. A teaser.”

“Ugh,” Chanyeol says, and he switches out the now full mug for another empty one. _Coffee_ _. +milk. +sucralose. Start._ “It’s set in 2102, and the main character is a princess. Is that enough?”

“More,” Kai calls.

“Her claim to the throne is challenged,” Chanyeol says.

“More!” Kai calls.

“When her father dies, one of his advisers starts training her in the art of the cytana,” Chanyeol says.

“Ooh, what is that?” Kai asks excitedly.

“Okay, enough,” Chanyeol says, and he grabs both mugs and walks over to join Kai on the couch.

He hands the green tea to Kai, who takes it without looking away from the projection.

“I’m so excited,” Kai says, hands wrapped around the warmth, moving from side to side like his body can’t handle it.

Chanyeol tries to keep himself from smiling, but he can’t. It’s unavoidable, he thinks. He settles back into the couch, watching as the sun rises over Japan.

He feels...happy.

Kai’s already paid for himself ten times over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [dr frankenstein voice] its ALIVE
> 
> just some atmospheric build-up this week! i was so happy with the reception to the first chapter, ahh!!! like, big keysmashes from me. anyway, thank you again to everyone who commented: gotta be honest, it keeps me writing!!! 
> 
> i'll be updating this fic every tuesday at 8 EST so if you want to follow along, it will be relatively easy to do so. i'm pretty sure it'll be easy to stick to that schedule but if i ever hit any snags, ill update via my twitter. 
> 
> speaking of twitter: as usual, you can find me on twitter (@wolfsupremacist) and on curious cat (/wolfsupremacist) if you want to ask a question, strike up a conversation, pitch a request for a oneshot, or you just want to follow along. 
> 
> alright, folks. ill shut up now. have a great week!!! 화이팅!!!


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal ideation

Their first couple of days together are strange. Not strange-uncomfortable. Not strange-bad. Just strange. Different. A learning experience.

Kai is curious. Smart. Sweet. Better than Chanyeol could have even imagined. And he imagined a lot. 

And Chanyeol is used to being on his own. He eats alone, he bathes alone, he sleeps alone. He sees Sehun every once in a while, when Sehun pings him and demands his presence like a petulant child, but otherwise, Chanyeol has been on his own for a while now.

So it’s strange. Having someone. 

He lays on his bed, curled in a ball. Thinks about maybe getting up to get a bath. He ordered new oils...he could try one out. It might make his existence seem a little less terrible, he reasons.

Four knocks rap at his door: _knock, knock-knock, knock._

Chanyeol doesn’t move much. Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t think he could.

“Yeah?” he answers.

“It’s me,” Kai says, voice soft.

Chanyeol smiles despite his mood.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I figured.”

“Are you alright?” Kai asks. “Have you eaten?”

Chanyeol clutches his stomach, reminded of how much awful shit he ate on the train home. When he starts, he just can’t stop. It always ends this way, and yet he does it anyway. Can't seem to prevent history from repeating itself. 

“Um,” Chanyeol says. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Kai says through the door. “I’m going to go pick something up. Do you need anything?”

God, Chanyeol is just the worst host, isn’t he? He’s completely useless.

“No,” he says. “I’m okay.”

There is deafening silence for a few moments, the kind of silence that rings in your ears and sticks in your teeth.

“Okay,” Kai says. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, taking the covers and burying himself underneath them. “Be safe. Ping me if you need.”

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol wakes up the next day and slips into the bathtub. He thinks for a moment about letting himself dip beneath the water, breathing out the air in his lungs until he goes dizzy with the need to breath, holding himself at the bottom of the tub. Breathing in water until the delirium set in. He read somewhere that it was painless that way, that drowning was the simplest and best of deaths when you could let go of the mental anguish of it, the _fear,_ and just let yourself breathe in. Just let yourself go.

He closes his eyes and imagines it. Lets himself drift a bit on the surface of the water. It’d be easy, he thinks, so--

He jolts upright at the knocking on the door.

“Chanyeol?” Kai calls.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“It’s getting late,” Kai says.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Sorry, just...lost track of time.”

 

⚠

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Chanyeol says, coming home after work the next day to find his dinner made.

“I like cooking,” Kai says simply. “Sit. Eat. Tell me if it’s good.”

Chanyeol is used to eating his weight in grease, fried street food that’s an addiction of its own. In fact, he doesn’t know _anyone_ who cooks anymore. Androids, he guesses, but no one else.

He sets the dinner that he brought for both of them in the ice-box, sits down at the table in front of his Kai-sponsored meal.

He looks down at his plate: pan-seared fish, algae chips sprinkled with what smelled like citrus. A seaweed salad. It looks so fresh. So natural.

“Where did you even get this stuff?” Chanyeol asks. He knew what he had: not much.  

Kai shrugs, grabs his own plate.

“There’s a fish farm not far from here,” Kai says. “And a couple streets over, there’s a little produce place. The floor is kind of gross, but the food looked good enough. Do you go out much?”

“Um,” Chanyeol says, grabbing his fork, “not really. Work and back, mostly.”

"Not even on your day off?" Kai asks. 

"Uh, not really," Chanyeol says. 

Kai frowns. God, it sounds so much more depressing when he says it aloud. 

“It’s okay that I go out, though, right?” Kai says.

“Y-yeah, of course,” Chanyeol says. “You don’t need my permission to do anything. Y-you’re your own person.”

Kai seems satisfied with that, sitting next to Chanyeol and smiling.

“Eat,” he commands again.

Chanyeol listens, flaking off a piece of the fish with his fork and tasting it.

“Wow,” Chanyeol says. “This is really good. I...I haven’t had anything like this in a long time.”

“Why not?” Kai asks, head tilted to the side cutely.

“I dunno,” Chanyeol says, lifting up another forkful to his mouth. “I guess I just...didn’t know what I was doing. And I didn’t really see a point in trying to learn.”

Kai eats, watches as Chanyeol eats.

“Have you ever had a psy-val?” Kai asks.

Chanyeol nearly chokes on his food.

“What?” he asks.

“A psy-val,” Kai asks.

 _Jesus Christ,_ he knew he was bad, but he didn’t know it would only take a couple days before Kai would wanna see him committed.  

“You would know,” Chanyeol says, setting down his fork and taking a sip of water. “You’ve seen all my records.”

Kai rolls his eyes again.

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

“Just because I know your records doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it from you,” Kai says.

He’s so real. 

“Why does hearing it from me make a difference?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai considers him for a long while. Chanyeol does nothing in the interim, just watches him back.

“It makes me feel more real,” Kai finally says. “I’m sorry. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop doing it.”

“N-no,” Chanyeol says. “No, it’s fine, I just...I’m sorry, I just didn’t get it.”

“It’s okay,” Kai shrugs. “I don’t expect you to.”

Chanyeol doesn’t like the feeling that fills him up from head to toe as he watches Kai poke around at the food on his plate.

“This is...this is the first time I’ve ever really known someone like you,” Chanyeol says. “So if I do anything that’s strange or anything that’s bad, just tell me. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Kai says quickly, defensively before he starts reciting automatically. “On your last Pillars exam, taken March 23rd, 2044, you scored highly in spatial reasoning, kinesthetic intelligence, verbal working memory, both interpersonal and intrapersonal intelligence, and musical ability.”

Chanyeol tries to keep from smiling, but he feels like he fails miserably. 

“I thought you said you didn’t like doing that,” Chanyeol says.

“I don’t,” Kai smiles, “but I like winning arguments.”

“This isn’t an argument,” Chanyeol says.

“It was, but now I’ve won,” Kai says. “Eat your food.”

Kai focuses again on his food, and Chanyeol watches as he grins.

“Okay,” Chanyeol agrees.

 

⚠

 

There is a fair bit of tip-toeing around. On his part, at least.

Kai takes to life better than Chanyeol did. There’s nothing newborn about him.

Still, Chanyeol doesn’t want to disturb him. Doesn’t want to infringe upon personal space at all. He has his own room, and though it’s small, Kai starts decorating it within the first couple days. He hangs a neon poster of dancing bears above the head of his bed. It gives the room a peaceful, baby-pink glow.

“You don’t mind, right?” Kai asks, hanging it.

“I told you,” Chanyeol says. “You’re your own person. Just, I guess...don’t go overboard. I don’t make _that_ much.”

Kai smiles.

“You know, I saw one of those big N-series screens today,” Kai says, eyeing the wall. “It would look pretty good in here.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says. “You get a job, and then we can talk about the N series."

Kai grins.

“I think I could find one,” Kai says.

“I know you could,” Chanyeol says.

“Even though I look exactly like about twenty-five thousand other people in center-Seoul alone?” Kai asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “You’re special.”

Kai looks down, smiles.

Chanyeol feels his stomach warm. It reminds him of honey.

 

⚠

 

Sometimes he’ll have the energy after dinner to stay up. Watch something with Kai. Laugh with him. Joke with him.

Most days, he doesn’t.

He eats, bathes. Crashes into bed and sleeps, unable to wash away the exhaustion that sticks to his skin like glue.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol sees the way Kai watches him: carefully.

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai looks back to his food.

“Nothing,” Kai says.

Chanyeol looks to his own food. Frowns.

 

 

 

Chanyeol slips into the bath after work, lazes in the hot water until his muscles relax. In the pit of his stomach, he still thinks about honey, about how it would loosen him up quick. He shakes his head. The water sprays against the tile.

When he walks out to the living room for coffee, Kai is playing with M.

There’s a little hologrammed game being projected through the living area, one where you have to slide the blocks around in order to create enough room for one piece to slip through. Chanyeol’s pretty good at that game, but Kai is better, ruthless in his decimation of the puzzle. Chanyeol watches in awe for a moment before he walks over to his drink maker, poking at the buttons until it starts spitting out coffee.

“You take baths a lot,” Kai notes, still automatically solving his current level.

“Uh, yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“That’s good,” Kai says, and he turns his head away from the puzzle to look at Chanyeol. “You need alone time. _S_ _elf-care_ is important.”

He says it like a joke, wiggling his eyebrow, and Chanyeol is again surprised.

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I guess?”

“Chanyeol,” Kai says, turning back to his game, taking a block and sliding it across. “I was kidding.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “I got it.”

“It was an allusion to masturbation,” Kai explains.  

Chanyeol coughs loudly.

“I think that kind of joke suits your sense of humor,” Kai says. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I guess not.”

“Noted,” Kai says, and he whips his arm down, sliding out the piece from the maze, solving his current level, pumping his fist as he does it.

 _New high score,_ the air flashes happily.

He turns back to Chanyeol and smirks.

 

⚠

 

Kai does a lot for him. Takes care of a lot of menial shit that Chanyeol used to have to do on his own. It’s...he doesn’t _have_ to, and Kai knows that, but he does it anyway. Chanyeol wonders if it’s out of a sense of debt. He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want any part of it.

He has to start doing things for Kai in return.

Chanyeol brings dinner home: yakisoba-pan, but the whole thing has been batter-dipped and deep-fried, slathered with salty-sweet sauce and mayonnaise, sprinkled with fish and seaweed flakes and sesame seeds. It’s a monstrosity. Chanyeol loves it. He just usually saves it for special occasions.

He figures Kai is special enough.

“What is this?” Kai asks, horrified, if judging by his expression.

“It’s dinner,” he says.

“I make dinner,” Kai says.

“This time, I made dinner,” Chanyeol says.

“You didn’t make this,” Kai says warily.

“No, but someone did,” Chanyeol says. “Sit.”

“Chanyeol,” Kai whines.

“What?” Chanyeol says. “You haven’t even tried it yet.”

“It looks gross,” Kai says, turning up his nose.

“You should at least try something before deciding you hate it,” Chanyeol says. “That’s the _polite_ thing to do.”

Chanyeol can practically see the cogs turning in his head. Kai is, above all else, polite.

“Fine,” he says. “But I’m not going to like it.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“Okay,” Kai says.

He primly hacks off a piece with his knife and fork.

“Go ahead,” Chanyeol encourages.

Kai rolls his eyes, popping it into his mouth.

His expression changes dramatically as he chews. Night and day.

“Good?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai nods, swallows, and Chanyeol watches the movement.

They eat in relative silence because Kai devours his meal so quickly, ending the meal by licking the sauce from his fingers.

“I think we learned a lesson today,” Chanyeol says haughtily.

“Shut up,” Kai says. “You’re so annoying when you’re right.”

Chanyeol laughs, and Kai gives him a smile. It feels like a gift, well worth the price of admission.

 

⚠

 

“I’m home,” he calls, walking through the door and feeling pleasantly domestic. It’s nice having someone waiting for you.

He toes off his shoes, sets his bag down. Hangs up his coat. Doesn’t hear Kai answer like usual.

“Kai?” he says, looking through the rooms.

He wanders to Kai’s door, closed, and knocks. There’s no response.

He clicks on his earpiece.

“M?” he prompts.

“Yes, Chanyeol?” the speaker responds.

“Is Kai home?” he asks.

Chanyeol wanders to the living room, looks up to the hub. It scans through the room, through the hall, through every room in the apartment, blue light raining from the ceiling.

“No, Chanyeol,” M says. “You are alone.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol frowns. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” M says, and then Chanyeol clicks the button on his earpiece, watching the light in the hub dim.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol is in his bath, listening to music through his earpiece. Sehun sent the track to him. It’s weird, but cool. It lends itself well to a bath, he thinks.

He ducks his head under the water, holds himself there until he needs air, and then he bubbles back up to the surface. When he breaks through the water, he notices the door open.

Kai stands in the doorway.

Chanyeol reaches to his earpiece, pressing the button and muting the music.

“Uh,” Chanyeol says. “Hi. I’m naked.”

“I’m aware,” Kai says cheerfully. “I’m happy to see you’re not masturbating.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. Kai does that a lot. He’s picked it up too.

“Okay. Do you need something?” Chanyeol asks.

“I’d like to give you a psy-val,” Kai says. “If you’d be comfortable with that.”

_Psy-val. Given by Kai, of all people._

“Why?” Chanyeol asks, and Kai’s face falls. Chanyeol quickly adds,  “I-I’m not saying no, I just...wanna know why, I guess.”

Kai leans his head against the door frame.

“I’d like to know you better,” Kai says. “We have a good base-level connection, but I think this will be the best way to break down any walls we have between us.”

Chanyeol leans his head back against the tile. _Walls._ That’s an interesting way to refer to Chanyeol’s complete inability to connect with people. Has he built himself into a tower? Walls of self-hatred and sadness so high that no one could break through them? Is he completely beyond help? Beyond hope?

He got Kai for a reason. He has to at least try.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

Kai perks up, smiling brightly with all his teeth showing.

“On one condition,” Chanyeol says.

The smile disappears. 

“What’s your condition?” Kai asks, eyes narrowed.

“I wanna give you one too,” Chanyeol smiles.

Kai squints and smiles, like it makes no sense to him.

“Okay,” Kai says. “Get dried off.”

“You wanna do it _now_?” Chanyeol asks.

“No time like the present,” Kai says. “I’ll wait in the living room.”

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol ruffles the towel through his hair and pads out to the living room. When he gets there, Kai has two tall glasses of water poured, two mini-micros sitting between them on the coffee table-top, and he’s relaxing back into the couch.

Kai meets his gaze and pops up.

“Do you want me to go first?” Kai asks.

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I will.”

“Hm,” Kai smiles, “interesting.”

“It hasn’t started yet, has it?” Chanyeol smirks.

He sits down, and Kai follows him. He watches as Kai takes the mini-micro and slides it into his earpiece. Chanyeol does the same.

“Are you ready?” Kai asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Chanyeol says.

They click the buttons on their earpieces at the same time. Kai waits for a moment.

“They start off small,” he says. “Let’s talk about your family.”

Chanyeol reaches out for his water and takes a grateful sip.

“I don’t have a family,” Chanyeol says. “I’m the only one left.”

“That’s a bleak way to look at it,” Kai notes.

“They died when I was younger. Ten years old,” Chanyeol says as an explanation. “After that, I lived with my grandmother. I’d just turned nineteen when she died too.”

“That must have been difficult,” Kai says.

“It was,” Chanyeol admits for the first time.

Freshly adult and all on his own. Alone in the world.

“Would you consider it a traumatic experience?” Kai asks.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “I found her.”

“That must have been very difficult for you. These types of things take a long time to heal. Do you still think about it?” Kai asks.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says.

“Do you feel guilt over it?” Kai asks.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says, and his tears start to well in his eyes.

He sniffs, tries to hold the tears back.  

“We can stop,” Kai says, and he reaches out, takes Chanyeol’s hand in his. Chanyeol resists the urge to pull back. 

“No,” Chanyeol says. “It’s just...it’s been a while since I talked about it.”

A lie. He’s never talked about it before, not even to his closest, no, his _only_ friend. Besides Kai, of course. 

“Okay,” Kai says. “When you’re ready, then.”

Chanyeol rubs at his eyes. Shakes his head and breathes in sharply. Steadies himself.

“I’m good,” Chanyeol says. “Go ahead.”

“Why do you feel guilty?” Kai asks.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “I guess when I think back, I always think _maybe if I was there, maybe if I wasn’t so busy or wrapped up in myself, maybe I could have stopped it_. That probably sounds silly, but...I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t sound silly,” Kai says. “It sounds appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai strokes a thumb against the back of Chanyeol’s hand.

“When something bad happens to someone you love,” Kai says, “it’s normal to internalize it. To even feel like you must have done something to facilitate it. That’s the way we see the world. We understand it through the lens of the self.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, lowering his eyes.

“Those feelings are valid,” Kai says. “Expected even.”

Kai’s thumb stops moving across the back of Chanyeol’s hand.

“But it’s important to take those feelings, to honor them enough to challenge them critically, and then let them go,” Kai says.

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “T-that makes sense.”

Kai smiles warmly at him, and Chanyeol attempts a smile back.

“Do they tell you to say all that?” Chanyeol asks.

“No,” Kai says. “That’s just what I think.”

“You’re good at this,” Chanyeol says.

Kai looks down at the fabric of the couch, so Chanyeol does too. He feels himself settle.

“Ready for something different?” Kai asks.

Chanyeol nods.

“I’m going to give you a series of statements,” Kai says. “I’d like you to respond using a scale from one to five, one meaning _I never feel this way_ , five meaning _I always feel this way_. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“I am very anxious and worried,” Kai asks.

“Four,” Chanyeol says.

“I feel that my worry is out of control,” Kai asks.

“Four,” Chanyeol responds.

“I have trouble sleeping,” Kai says. “I cannot fall or stay asleep, or I don’t feel well-rested when I wake.”

That cuts through him easy. His eyes hurt as he struggles to keep it together.

“Five,” Chanyeol says.

“I shake or tremble when I feel a sudden, unexpected wave of panic,” Kai says.

Chanyeol feels himself ease. He breathes out.

“One,” Chanyeol says.

“I sweat profusely when I worry,” Kai says.

“Two?” Chanyeol says. “I’m just...sweaty.”

Kai smiles.

The statements go on and on: physical pain, body temperature fluctuations, and dizziness. Chanyeol answers as honestly as he can.

“Have you ever had a panic attack?” Kai asks.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t think so.”

Kai smiles. Soft. Gentle.

“Do you purposefully avoid situations that elicit feelings of anxiety?” Kai asks.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Chanyeol says back.

“Very funny,” Kai says. “Would you say you’ve lost interest in things you used to enjoy?”

Chanyeol stares at his hands.  

“Yes,” Chanyeol says.

“Have you lost trust in yourself?” Kai asks.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says, and his throat is so dry that he swallows over a lump.

“Are you happy?” Kai asks.

“I guess,” Chanyeol says.

“Are you content?” Kai asks.

Chanyeol looks up.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says.

Kai looks down. Looks at their hands. So close.

“How frequently do you feel overwhelmed by sadness, like you can’t go on?” Kai asks.

 _Every day,_ Chanyeol thinks.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says.

“You can be honest,” Kai says.

“I am being honest,” Chanyeol says.

“I don’t want to use this against you,” Kai says, “but I have access to your heart monitor.”

Chanyeol shuts his eyes.

“A lot,” Chanyeol answers truthfully.

“One to five?” Kai prompts.

“Four,” Chanyeol says.

“How frequently do you feel like you’ve lost the ability to have fun?” Kai asks. “One to five.”

“Four,” Chanyeol says.

“Have you gained or lost weight without trying to?” Kai asks. “Has your appetite changed?”

Chanyeol grits his teeth.

“Gained,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve--I eat a lot more than I used to. I’ve been more hungry.”

“How often do you feel like you’re moving slower than your usual pace?” Kai asks.

“Five,” he says. “I...five.”

“You’re doing well,” Kai praises. “We’re almost through.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, steeling himself.

“How often do you feel worthless?” Kai asks.

“Jesus,” Chanyeol says shakily.

Kai smiles sadly.

“I dunno,” Chanyeol says. “Four, I guess.”

“How often do you think about death?” Kai asks.

“Four,” Chanyeol says. _Five,_ he should have said.

“How often do you feel as though your sadness has made it difficult to function in your personal, social, or work life?” Kai asks.

Chanyeol stares at his hands. Picks at a fingernail as he feels the tears spring back to his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Kai says.

“Five,” Chanyeol answers.

“Are you prone to bouts of sudden elevations in your energy and self-confidence?” Kai asks.

“No,” Chanyeol says.

“Do you ever experience unusual elation or irritability?” Kai asks.

“Does right now count?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai rolls his eyes, and Chanyeol smiles as he rubs at his eyes.

“No,” he answers.

“How often would you say you experience mood swings?” Kai asks. “One to five.”

“One,” Chanyeol says.

Kai nods. Then, he reaches forward again, takes Chanyeol’s hands in his.

“This next section might be difficult,” Kai says.

Chanyeol knew what that meant.

“In the last year, how often have you used alcohol?” Kai asks. “One being never, five being daily.”

“Four?” Chanyeol says. “A few times a week, at most.”

“Nip,” Kai prompts.

“Two,” Chanyeol says. “Barely at all.”

“Waves, blaze, slush, or any other hallucinogen,” Kai prompts.

“One,” Chanyeol says.

“Whips,” Kai says.

“One,” Chanyeol says.

Kai stops for a second. Then another second.  _Oh,_ Chanyeol thinks.

“Honey,” Kai says, “in any form.”

Chanyeol felt sweat on his brow just at the thought. Black honey. Lavender. Ginseng. He’d tried it all. He had liked it all, just for different reasons. It could slow you down, it could speed you up. It could make you forget. It could do anything. How often has he craved it? Every day. Five. Every day. Five. Five. But how often has he used it since he quit?

“One,” Chanyeol says.

Kai looks at him, lets his eyes scan over Chanyeol’s face.

“That’s very good,” Kai says. “Impressive, even. Not many people are able to walk away from something like that.”

“No, not many,” Chanyeol says.

“A lot of people…,” Kai starts, but he stops himself.

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol says.

“A lot of people relapse quickly,” Kai says. “According to the most recent figures, roughly 78.9 percent of honey users relapse within the first year of sobriety. That number goes up to 86.4 percent within two years. So your accomplishment is special.”

Warmth runs through Chanyeol, and it _is_ honey, what Chanyeol can remember it feeling like. Sticky and sweet.

“It wasn’t...it wasn’t easy,” Chanyeol says, trying to keep the pleased tone out of his voice. “But I’m glad that part of my life is done now.”

Kai hums.

“Do you feel like it still affects you?” Kai asks.

“Is this part of the assessment?” Chanyeol asks.

“It’s just a question,” Kai shrugs.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “Every day.”

Kai reaches up to his ear, pops out the mini-micro.

“Thank you,” Kai says. “You did well.”

Chanyeol breathes out heavily.

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, and he pops out his own.

He grabs his water glass, still mostly full, and drains half of it, opening his throat to it.

“Do you want to give me mine now?” Kai asks.

“I’m actually kind of tired,” Chanyeol says, and he scrubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I didn’t realize how much it would take out of me.”

“That’s okay,” Kai says. “Whenever you want.”

“I think I’m gonna go lay down,” Chanyeol says, standing up. “Close my eyes for a while.”

“Okay,” Kai says.

Chanyeol turns, starts to make his way to the hall.

“Chanyeol.”

He turns.

“Could I come lie down with you?” Kai asks.

Chanyeol smiles. Maybe...maybe if he hadn’t just spread himself out before Kai, all his blood and his guts on display, maybe his answer would be different.

“Yeah, come on.”

 

⚠

 

It’s strange, Chanyeol thinks, how vulnerability works.

“Is this weird?” Chanyeol asks, lying across from Kai on the bed, staring at him.

“I don’t think so,” Kai says. “We just had an intense emotional experience. I think this is the decompressing phase.”

“Hm,” Chanyeol says. “That sounds nice.”

Kai takes one of Chanyeol’s hands in his. It’s quiet for several moments, and Chanyeol closes his eyes. Would Kai still be here if he wasn’t crafted specifically for this reason? Would he even care to listen?

He tries to quiet the thoughts, but it doesn’t work. Maybe he should try talking over them.

“Did I scare you off?” Chanyeol asks.

“No,” Kai says, “nothing like that.”

Chanyeol opens his eyes. Kai is looking down at their linked hands.

“Are you worried for me?” Chanyeol asks.

“Should I be honest?” Kai asks.

“Always,” Chanyeol says.

“Yes, I am worried for you,” Kai says. “You should talk to someone. Someone qualified.”

 _I know,_ Chanyeol thinks. _I don’t know why I needed someone to tell me that. I don’t know why I needed_ **_you_ ** _to tell me that._

“Yeah, I think so,” Chanyeol says brokenly. “But I’m…”

“You’re…?” Kai asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’m glad we did this,” Chanyeol says.

Kai smiles.

“I’m glad we did too,” he says. “You know the part in a friendship where you can say whatever you want? When you can act like who you really are instead of acting the way you think the other person wants you to act?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol breathes.

“The quicker you get to that point,” Kai says, “the better.”

Chanyeol shuts his eyes.

“How did you get so smart?” Chanyeol asks.

He doesn’t see Kai’s face when he answers, but he can hear the smile.

“I was programmed that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slight lateness! i had a Personal Matter to attend to 
> 
> anyway, wow, love to write about depression and overwhelming sadness lol. im definitely gonna have to pop another "angst with a happy ending" tag on this bad boy, bc for as dark as it will get (absolutely no death, promise!), i will for sure be writing a happy ending to this. its just, u know, the journey there might not be all sunshine and rainbows and what have you. hopefully thats ok! 
> 
> i hope u liked this chapter, and if you did, leave a kudos or a comment to let me know! 4 will definitely be a bit happier and will be up 8/14 around 8ish. no lateness. pinky swear + thumb stamp! 
> 
> follow me on twitter @wolfsupremacist or ask me a question at curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist! 
> 
> ok, thats it for me. have an excellent week, friends! be the best you you can be!


	4. four

Friendship is not given, but earned.

The rate at which they fall into comfortable, dependable friendship after his psy-val is almost worrisome in that it is exactly what Chanyeol dreamed of.

Kai is almost always lounging around the apartment, occupying the space. He’s always making something with the weird ingredients he picks up from the produce place (“it’s a hybrid between a cucumber and a melon! I thought it would be perfect in a salad, don’t you think?”), or showing Chanyeol the new anime he stumbled across while scrolling through M-Media (“it’s about a boy who becomes a _samurai_ and then he finds out that his dad isn’t actually his dad, but his _creator_ , because he’s an _android_ ”), or challenging Chanyeol to a game that Kai will inevitably win: Cross Craze, or FleetGuard, or even Farcraft, which is frankly embarrassing, considering Chanyeol used to play Farcraft until the early hours of the morning when sleep wouldn’t come to him.

Chanyeol doesn’t mind, though.

Kai looks cute when he’s smug.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol comes home from work to find a box on the counter. It has his name scrawled across it in pristine, perfect characters.

Chanyeol looks around, but he doesn’t see Kai, normally sprawled across the couch or busy in the kitchen.

“Kai?” he calls.

“In here,” his voice echoes from his bedroom.

“What is this?” Chanyeol asks.

“A present,” Kai calls cheerfully. “Open it.”

Chanyeol turns the box in his hand.

“Why would you get me a present?” he asks.

Chanyeol can practically hear the eye roll.

“Do you need a reason to do nice things for people?” Kai asks.

 _Other people do_ , Chanyeol thinks, smiling to himself. But Kai isn’t like other people. Kai is special. Maybe it’s silly to think, but he’s never met anyone like Kai before. And he means it in the best way.

“Open it.”

Chanyeol turns, sees Kai standing across from him, arms folded comfortably.

“Go ahead,” he says.

Chanyeol carefully opens the box, and finds a black metal base with a button on the side. He strokes over the button. He looks up at Kai.

“Do it,” Kai says.

Chanyeol presses the button.

A miniature Princess Ayame flickers into existence, all pink hologram light. Her hair is long, almost to her ankles, cut with her signature locks at her cheeks. She’s adorable, even with the sword raised in the Te Ura Gasumi stance, the edge of the cyber blade sharper than a razor.

“Wh--where did you get this?” Chanyeol asks.

“I saw it,” Kai shrugs. “At a little store. I thought you might like it.”

He doesn’t just like it, he _loves_ it.

He takes the little hologram model and goes to his bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Kai laughs, following him in.

He shoves a bunch of stuff off his top shelf, letting it all clatter to the floor, before he sets the little figurine dead-center where it belongs.

“That looks nice there,” Kai says. “Do you like it?”

Chanyeol turns to him.

There’s...there’s not much Chanyeol wouldn’t already do for Kai.

He pulls Kai into a hug. It shocks a breath out of Kai, and Chanyeol brings him in closer for it.

“I love it,” he says.

 

⚠

 

He doesn’t like talking to people he doesn’t know. He used to, but now...now he doesn’t.

Despite this, Chanyeol feels compelled to return the favor. Kai is exceptional in his sweetness, in his ability to suss out what Chanyeol needs and when. Chanyeol wants to do the same for him.

He wanders into the store and almost immediately walks back out.

It’s all consignment goods, the little place run by a grumpy old man who glares at Chanyeol as he peruses the wares. Kai likes old-fashioned things, though, always points them out in movies and television shows, so Chanyeol ventures in.

There are piles and piles of unsorted clothes, all that smell vaguely like body odor, so he leaves that where it lies. There’s old china, tea-cups and mugs and dishes for display. Chanyeol touches one, but decides against it. He moves on.

There’s a table of old tech, things that are decades obsolete or even older. Chanyeol runs his fingers over them, over the thin layer of dust that sits atop it all.

“Are you gonna buy something, kid?” the man grouches. “Or are you just gonna touch all my shit?”

Chanyeol bows in apology, and he’s a second away from running.

But then he sees it. He grabs the well-worn teddy bear from the table across the room and brings it over to the man.

“How much?” he asks.

The man looks him up and down.

“25 thousand,” he says.

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. Jacking up the price. Asshole. He probably doesn’t make a lot of sales though, Chanyeol considers. Take the money where you can get it, he supposes.

“Whatever,” Chanyeol says. “Paper only?”

The man nods, but Chanyeol came prepared, sliding the bills over the little countertop and grabbing a bag for the present on his way out.

 

⚠

 

By the time he’s opening the door to the apartment, he feels embarrassed. Kai’s gift to him was thoughtful. Stunning. Something to be displayed and admired. Something close to Chanyeol’s heart.

His gift to Kai is some ratty old teddy bear, an eye missing, an ear hanging on by a thread and a dream. He considers walking back out, shoving it down into the garbage shoot and listening to it rocket off to...wherever the trash goes, he doesn’t know.

“Hey,” Kai interrupts. “What’s that?”

He points to the bag.

Chanyeol quickly puts it behind his back.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says.

Kai’s eyes narrow.

“Show me,” Kai says.

“No,” Chanyeol says.

Kai tilts his head to the side, seemingly considering his options. Chanyeol waits awkwardly. He could try and shuffle off to his bedroom with his relatively expensive, ugly gift, maybe try to shove it under his bed and dispose of it at a later da--

“I’ll do aegyo,” Kai says.

Chanyeol frowns.

“You hate aegyo,” Chanyeol says.

“Do you?” Kai asks, mischievous. “Because we can find out.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know if he could handle it in _real_ life. Even the fake hologram shit was almost too much to bear. Kai starts raising his hands to his face, hands under his chin.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Enough.”

Kai’s smile spreads, and _God_ , maybe that’s worse than aegyo even. Chanyeol’s stomach twists up in inextricable knots.

“So what do you have?” Kai asks.

Chanyeol decides not to prolong the affair, preferring just to rip it off quickly and cleanly like a hydrogel. He gives Kai the bag, stares at his feet.

“I wanted to get you something,” he says. “It’s dumb, but...I don’t know. You like bears.”

Chanyeol sees the empty bag fall to the ground, and he winces. He must look like such a fucking _idiot_. What a _shitty, stupid_ thing to get someone, he’s the _w_ \--

“I love it,” Kai says.

Chanyeol looks up, and he sees Kai clutching the bear tightly to his chest.

“Where did you find this?” Kai asks.

“I, uh,” Chanyeol stammers. “I found it in a consignment shop.”

The way Kai looks at him reminds Chanyeol of a simpler time, and it fills him with a fleeting, but powerful feeling of pure, unadulterated, undiluted hope.

“I love it,” Kai repeats.

He crushes Chanyeol to his body, the bear caught between them, before running off.

“I gotta wash him,” Kai says. “And then I’m gonna figure out how to fix him up.”

 

⚠

 

Occasionally, Kai manages to drag Chanyeol out of the apartment by the hand on his day off.

“I just wanna get a bath and then go back to bed,” Chanyeol groans, shielding his eyes against the hazy morning.

“I’m not a licensed psychiatrist or anything, but I think that’s a symptom of major depressive disorder,” Kai says, digging his fingernails into Chanyeol’s hand.

“Ow!” Chanyeol says. “I get it, I get it.”

“Then come,” Kai says happily. “We’re gonna go exploring.”

“What is there to explore?” Chanyeol asks.

The street is relatively empty so early in the morning on a Sunday, and the only light is coming from the sun, smog nearly blocking it out. The air looks pretty in a dirty sort of way. Orange and red smoke sitting above them. The city looks different at dawn.

“There’s plenty if you’d just open your eyes,” Kai says. “Come on. Mask on.”

Chanyeol lifts the mask from under his chin and covers his nose and mouth with it. It isn’t his usual, plain black mask. Kai gave him this one. It has a little white muzzle printed on it, so it looks like a bear. Kai really likes it, so Chanyeol wears it.

“Cute,” Kai comments, and Chanyeol’s stomach goes pleasantly warm again.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, smile hidden by the mask. “Where to?”

“Do you wanna see the market?” Kai asks. “It’s really cool.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know what’s so cool about buying crusty, decrepit knick-knacks from ajummas, but he shakes his head _yes_ anyway, delighted to see Kai’s face light up.

They walk along the sidewalk, hands shoved in pockets. Kai whistles, busting up the silence the way he shatters through puzzles. It’s nice, Chanyeol thinks.

Even though he’s tired, even though he has to squint against the light, even though he doesn’t really see a point.

He sees a point, of course, once they walk underground.

Once the subway system was abandoned and the skytrains took over, the stations fell to disuse. Chanyeol never knew what happened to them. He sees now.

The first thing Chanyeol notices is that all the former storefronts have been ripped to shreds, excavated and near-demolished. People have scraped away the interiors, clawed away at the walls, taken anything of value and even anything without. Chanyeol figures that must have been during the depression just before he was born.

But people are clever, resilient. People find ways to make it.

It’s been built back up, grittier and less artificial, and Chanyeol finds he sort of likes it. It’s homey in a decomposing sort of way. The shops all have the owners out front, sitting in lawn chairs and trying to bid people forward to inspect their various wares.

“Kai,” one of the ladies calls from across the hall. “Come here, honey.”

Chanyeol bristles. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to hear that word without feeling like someone is holding him by the intestines, squeezing his stomach in their fist.

“She’s my favorite,” Kai says to Chanyeol, smiling, before turning back to her and calling, “Coming!”

Kai drags Chanyeol by the hand across to her little stand. It is stunning, beautiful, shining with bleached metal. He almost doesn’t know where to look, it’s all so pretty and sad. He looks down, sees the little old woman smiling back up at him, with creases at the corners of her eyes and her mouth.

Chanyeol bows deeply.

“He’s got manners,” the lady says.

“I taught him,” Kai says proudly.

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, smacking Kai in the shoulder. “You did not.”

“He’s told me a lot about you,” she says, eyes shining. “You’re Chanyeol?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s me.”

“Minseo,” she says in greeting, and she tilts her head towards him. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for quite a while now.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he says. “I hope you haven’t heard too much about me.”

“You don’t know him very well, then,” Minseo says. “He talks nonstop, and it’s all about you.”

Chanyeol turns and glares at Kai who suddenly finds his fingernails extremely interesting.

“You’ve lived in this neighborhood for how long and only just now came down here?” she says, making a dissatisfied noise as she looks him up and down.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t get out much.”

“Too much working,” she says.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “Not _that_ much.”

“One day off?” she says before repeating. “Too much working.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to argue. In reality, he thinks that if he didn’t get his job, he might have just fucked off and fallen deeper down the spiral, might have just decided it wasn’t worth the effort, might have just forgotten his own name in his desperation for the next sticky-sweet taste.

He’s grateful for work. In the early days, it was all he had to distract himself. Plus, it’s not like everyone is as lucky as him.

Still, he’d be fooling himself if he said it isn’t playing a part in killing him.

“What did you do?” Chanyeol asks curiously. “Before all this?”

“I was a technician,” she says. “Back when they needed such a thing. But what do the technicians do when the androids become smart enough to start repairing themselves? They get laid off.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, shuffling his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “If we didn’t get there eventually, we wouldn’t have Kai.”

She smiles at Kai, and Kai nearly blinds them both with his pearly white grin.

“Besides,” she says, “I handled it well enough. And it gave me opportunity.”

Chanyeol looks around again. Windchimes made of busted up plates of skel-metal, streaked with paint. Sculptures made from spare parts, twisting and metallic. There are paintings too, but they live in the third dimension, built up out of the canvas, looking like metal striking through a beating heart. The paintings pulse, even. He wonders how she rigged that. It’s scary, but striking. Uniquely pretty.

“When you can’t do tech anymore, you make art,” she smiles. “Some people like it.”

“I like it,” Chanyeol says. “How...how much for that one?”

Chanyeol points at one of the heart paintings, one where the edges look blue and the center is so deep red it almost looks black. It beats like Chanyeol’s heart.

“You wanna buy it?” she asks, eyes widening a touch.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “If it’s for sale, that is.”

“Honey,” she says, chiding, but Chanyeol still flinches a little, “it wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for sale.”

“How much?” he asks.

“How much do you think it’s worth?” she asks cryptically.

“Uh,” Chanyeol says, “how long did it take you to make it, I guess?”

“Oh,” she says, “that one took a while. About fifteen hours.”

“Two hundred thousand, then?” he asks. “I don’t know, is that too low? I could...I mean, you could always tell me what it’s worth, I don’t know anything about art.”

The woman looks at him quizzically before looking over to Kai.

“He _is_ a good one,” she says, and Kai nods.

She sticks out her wrist, and Chanyeol touches his to it.

Instead of hearing it chime, it beeps angrily.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, embarrassed. It hasn’t happened to him in so long, he almost forgot the instant shame it brings. “I’m sorry, I know...I know I have enough to cover it. Just give me a minute, I’ll...”

He reaches to his earpiece, about to call someone about it, but she takes his hand. Stops him.

She smiles.

“We’re talking different totals. I’m only asking a hundred thousand for it,” she says. “Come on, touch.”

She puts out her wrist again.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Quite sure,” she says, and she reaches out to take Chanyeol’s wrist in her hand, pressing hers to it. “Maybe this will convince you to get out of the house more often. People aren’t so bad.”

Chanyeol feels his face redden. Kai is evil.

She stands up, all fragile bird bones. She takes the painting off the wall, puts it in a bag for him to carry.

“Thank you,” he says, taking it from her when she holds it out for him. “I’ll come more often.”

“Come with Kai,” she says. “He’s here every other day.”

Chanyeol turns to Kai who shrugs in response.

“I like looking,” he says.

“Go on,” she says, shooing them away. “Show him your favorite places. Just make sure he knows that Minseo is your favorite.”

Kai smiles at her, embraces her wholly. Chanyeol realizes it now: Kai makes friends with everyone quickly. That’s who he is.

“Be good,” Kai tells her. “No harassing the girls.”

“No promises,” she smiles wryly.

And then they make their way deeper into the market, the twisting turns of the tunnels.

 

⚠ 

 

There is so much to see and so much to buy.

Chanyeol spends much more than he intends to, even going so far as to check his account quickly before buying someone’s music, being handed out on little mini-micros.

“Thank you,” the boy says, smile wide like he wasn’t expecting Chanyeol to actually buy it. “I appreciate it.”

Chanyeol nods, smiles back at him. He’d like to do something like that: make music. Be confident enough in it to sell it.

“Come on,” Kai says, arms loaded up with mismatched bags. “There’s a really nice place here we can go for lunch.”

Chanyeol follows where Kai leads, who expertly weaves his way through the crowd that emerges as the day blusters forward. Chanyeol stammers out a couple _excuse me’s_ as he tries to keep up, occasionally bumping into other people.

When Kai stares up at the little handwritten _homemade comfort food_ sign, Chanyeol stares up at it too. Even the sign is comforting. Nothing lit up, nothing moving. Something from a couple decades ago.

“You like jjigae?” Kai asks, sitting at one of the little plastic stools at the makeshift counter.

Chanyeol can’t remember the last time he had jjigae, maybe when he was very, _very_ young, so he can’t be sure, but still, despite this, he says, “Yes.”

“Good,” Kai says. “You like spicy food?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol lies.

It earns him a delighted grin, so Chanyeol thinks that maybe it’s worth it.

It isn’t, it turns out. Chanyeol suffers through the spiciest kimchi jjigae known to man or android, while Kai sits beside him, slurping it up happily.

“You’re bad at lying,” Kai says.

Kai wipes some of the broth from his mouth.

Chanyeol wipes some of the sweat from his brow.

“I’m just not used to it,” Chanyeol says. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anything like this.”

“But you don’t hate it, right?” Kai asks. “You like it?”

His mouth is aflame, tears just hanging at the corners of his eyes.

He can’t remember having a better day.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says truthfully. “A lot.”

Kai’s smile is honey, honey, _honey_.

 

⚠

 

By the time they get back to the apartment, it is dark outside, and their stomachs and arms are full. Chanyeol can’t remember the last time he felt so _pleasantly_ exhausted. Satisfied in a base, bone-deep way.

He collapses inelegantly onto the couch, and Kai follows him, setting his bags down carefully.

They sit, silence laid over them like a blanket.

Chanyeol stares up at the ceiling, and Kai is staring up at the ceiling too when Chanyeol takes a quick glance over.

Instead of flipping his gaze back to the white paint, he continues to stare at Kai, at his perfect profile. Who designed him, Chanyeol wonders. It must have taken a team. It must have taken days, maybe weeks, maybe _months_ to make something so beautiful.

Kai flicks his eyes over, stares at Chanyeol right back.

“What are you looking at?” Kai asks.

“Nothing much,” Chanyeol says.

A beat.

“You’re not very funny,” Kai smiles.

“No, I guess not,” Chanyeol smiles back.

“That’s okay,” Kai says, looking back to the ceiling and folding his arms back behind his head. “I don’t mind.”

 

⚠

 

Kai falls asleep on the couch. Chanyeol supposes that might be disingenuous, considering he only wakes himself because he gets a ping from Sehun.

Chanyeol rubs his face, clicks the earpiece to listen to the message.

 _Where have you been?_ , Sehun asks. _I haven’t seen you in a while. Message me back. I’m getting nervous._

Chanyeol makes the mental note to text him back later.

He clicks his earpiece again.

“M?” he whispers.

“Yes, Chanyeol,” the voice says, booming in the silence.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“It is 12:12 AM,” M responds.

He nudges Kai.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says. “Kai.”

“Mm,” Kai says. Barely stirring.

“Kai,” Chanyeol says.

No response, save for a curve of his mouth.

“Come on,” Chanyeol says, standing and hauling Kai up with him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He’s heavy and doesn’t offer Chanyeol much help, all but going dead weight on him. Chanyeol lifts him up, struggling only a bit as he takes Kai’s arm and puts it around his neck.

“Long day,” Kai says, dragging his feet.

“Yep, long day,” Chanyeol says.

He walks Kai to his room, puts him in bed.

“Thank you,” Kai says, covers pulled up under his chin, eyes closed peacefully.

“For what?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai’s eyes open, honey slow.

“For coming with me today,” he says, smiling sleepily.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, “I should be thanking you.”

Kai tilts his head to the side.

“For what?” he asks.

“For taking me,” Chanyeol says.

The smile he gets is better than anything he bought by a long shot.

“Goodnight,” Chanyeol says.

“Night,” Kai yawns, and Chanyeol closes the door on his way out.

 

⚠

 

In the bath, he pops the mixtape into his earpiece.

The boy from the market starts singing about expressways of sadness and joy over a beat that needs work. His voice can carry a song easily, though, exceptional in his raw, natural talent.

Chanyeol lets his body slide deeper into the water, imagining ways to fix it. Improve it. Make it perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, much happier! that's the ticket 
> 
> hope you liked this update--i just finished writing chapter 7 today and we're up around 25k thus far! i have no idea how long this will be, but i do hope that ppl enjoy! 
> 
> i've been thinking about getting a beta bc im so bad at editing my own work. pros would be....early access to my work? cons are....early access to my work. lol but if you're interested, just let me know someplace! im on twitter @wolfsupremacist, and on curious cat as well, you can find the link im sure. ur all very smart. 
> 
> thank you, as always, for reading and for commenting and being so nice!!!! have an excellent week!!!


	5. five

Chanyeol hears the pings in his earpiece almost constantly now. So too, apparently, does Kai, whenever Chanyeol is home.

“Who’s that?” Kai asks when Chanyeol gets another ping during the second episode of the third season of Princess Fatality.

“Nobody important,” Chanyeol says.

He clicks his earpiece idly.

Sehun’s voice fills his ear, and Chanyeol instinctively flinches.

 _You dumb bitch,_ Sehun shouts. _I’m gonna break down your fuckin’ door if I have to. I’m coming over tonight. You better be home, and you better be clean or so help me God, I’m gonna tear you limb from gangly limb and then deposit your dismembered body on the doorstep of the fucking rehab center my goddamn self._

“He sounds mad,” Kai says. And he shoves another handful of edamame chips into his mouth.

“You know, it’s common courtesy not to listen in,” Chanyeol says.

“Firstly, he was yelling. Secondly, it’s not my fault they built me with these ears. And thirdly,” Kai says, looking over at Chanyeol before flicking him in the ear, “what about you? I bet you can hear conversations from space.”

“You’re such a dick,” Chanyeol says, shoving Kai, who just laughs.

Then, Kai reaches into the air, pauses the episode. He turns to Chanyeol expectantly. Big wide eyes. Waiting for something. Chanyeol shifts in his seat.

“Yes?” Chanyeol asks.

“Am I gonna meet someone new tonight?” Kai asks.

 _Oh my god_ , he thinks, _I can’t imagine a worse scenario._

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I’m not letting him in.”

Chanyeol unpauses the episode, but Kai reaches back and pauses it again immediately after.

“Who is he?” Kai asks curiously.

“Like I said, nobody important,” Chanyeol says.

“He sounds important,” Kai says, needling like he’s been known to do. “Sounds like he’s known you for a long time.”

“Yeah, well, sounds are awfully deceiving,” Chanyeol says.

“I wanna meet him,” Kai says. “This is Sehun, right?”

Chanyeol sighs.

“Yes, it’s Sehun,” Chanyeol says.

“And you’ve known him since you were a kid?” Kai asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says begrudgingly.

“And he stuck by you?” Kai asks. “He’s very important to you? He’s the most important person in your life?”

“Okay, alright,” Chanyeol says. “I get it.”

“I’m just saying,” Kai says.

He turns back to the show, swipes through the air. Princess Ayame is again slicing through androids and humans alike, wielding her cy-tana like it’s an extension of her arm.

“I’d like to meet him,” Kai says.

Chanyeol sighs again. He can’t keep Kai away from Sehun forever, he supposes.

He clicks his earpiece.

“Sorry to worry you,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve just been sort of busy. Please don’t knock down my door, but you can come over tonight if you want.”

Chanyeol looks over at Kai who has his eyes trained forward, but his mouth split open in a smile.

 

⚠

 

Sehun bursts into the apartment with all the tact and grace of a wrecking ball.

“Uh, _hi_ ,” Chanyeol says from the couch.

“Shit,” Sehun says. “I almost didn’t think you’d be here.”

Chanyeol squints.

“I told you I would be,” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah, but you…” Sehun says, walking over, waving his hands, “you’ve been off the grid for like, three weeks.”

“I told you I was busy,” Chanyeol says.

“You’re _never_ busy,” Sehun says. “The busiest you get is falling into your couch cushions and getting stuck there watching furry shit on M.”

“Keep your voice down,” Chanyeol says. “And also, it’s not furry shit.”

Sehun sits down on the couch.

“You look fine,” Sehun says, and he takes Chanyeol’s face in his hands, pulls it close to his face, studying him carefully. “Your eyes aren’t all fucked up.”

“You can take me to a clinic and get me tested if you really don’t believe me,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun’s eyes go all warm and melty. Chanyeol scrunches up his nose at it.

“I believe you,” Sehun says. “I just worry about you.”

“I know,” Chanyeol says. “It’s fine, I’m...I’m good, I think.”

“Yeah?” Sehun asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun smiles, closed mouth.

“So,” Sehun says. “Where is he?”

Chanyeol tries to school his expression, but presumably, he fails miserably.

“I knew it,” Sehun says. “You dumb bitch.”

“Stop,” Chanyeol says. “He’s really cool.”

“You started boning yet?” Sehun asks. “Metalfucker.”

“ _Stop,_ ” Chanyeol whines.

Sehun whips his head around, looks up and down as though he’s waiting for Kai to drop down from the ceiling or rise up from the floor or something.

“Come on, introduce me,” Sehun says. “Since you won’t heed my advice at all, I better just indulge your sick fuckin’ fantasies.”

“Please don’t make this weird,” Chanyeol says.

“Too late,” Sehun says. “We’re already way past weird.”

" _You’re_ the one making it weird,” Chanyeol says. “We’re friends.”

Judging from his face, Sehun is willing to believe him about his drug use, but not about this.

“Where is he?” Sehun asks.

“He went out,” Chanyeol says. “He wanted to give you some time to adjust to the idea.”

“Hm,” Sehun says. “So he’s really that smart?”

“It’s crazy,” Chanyeol says. “He’s just like you or me.”

“Only more competent,” Sehun says.

Chanyeol laughs, “exactly.”

Sehun sits back against the cushions, throws his arm along the back of the couch. He studies Chanyeol, looks him up and down.

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

“I’m just coming around to the idea, I guess,” Sehun says. “You look happy. Happier than I’ve seen you in a while.”

“I am,” Chanyeol says, alarmed to find that it’s the truth.

Sehun grins at him, and Chanyeol feels like Kai has won him over already. He should have known. Sehun likes Chanyeol too much, is much too easy on him.

“Alright,” Sehun says. “Bring your boy back. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Chanyeol bites his lip to stop the smile and taps his earpiece.

 

⚠

 

Kai walks back into the apartment looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“Hi,” he says, introducing himself. “I’m Kai.”

Sehun turns around, looks at Chanyeol.

“You didn’t even change his name?” Sehun asks before standing up and walking over. “There’s like a million of him.”

“Uh,” Chanyeol says, glancing at Kai, who stares down at his hands, “I just thought I’d let him change his name if he wanted to.”

“Also,” Kai speaks up, “the initial launch was only 50,000 units.”

“Right,” Sehun says. “Only 50,000 Kais.”

Kai looks down at his hands again. Chanyeol can’t entertain _that_. He walks over to the foyer to join them.

“Stop making him feel weird,” Chanyeol says, and he slaps Sehun by the back of the head.

“Ow,” Sehun says, rubbing the spot with his hand. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“I _have_ thought about changing my name,” Kai says. “I just haven’t found anything that I like yet.”

Sehun nods, like he understands even though he can’t _possibly_ understand.

“It’s like getting a mod,” Sehun says. “You don’t wanna rush anything. It’s more or less permanent, after all.”

“Exactly,” Kai says.

“Oh,” Sehun says, sticking out his hand. “I’m Sehun. Although I’m sure you’ve gathered that.”

Kai takes his hand gratefully, and they shake hands.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Kai says.

“Have you now?” Sehun asks, and he turns to look at Chanyeol proudly.  

“Not really,” Kai smiles.

Sehun looks back at Kai, back to Chanyeol.

“You bitch!” Sehun says suddenly, smacking Chanyeol _hard_ before turning his attention to Kai again. “I’m his _best friend,_ I’ll have you know. And I know all his secrets too. I could tell you shit about him that would make your wires cross and your circuits break.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes.

“You’re a demon,” Chanyeol tells Kai.

“Android,” Kai says over his shoulder as Sehun drags him over to the couch .

“Same thing,” Chanyeol grimaces.

Sehun pushes Kai down to the couch by the shoulders.

“Let me tell you about the time he thought he was agreeing to help a couple with an issue they were having with some hardware, when in reality, he was agreeing to being in a threesome,” Sehun says.

“Oh my god,” Chanyeol says. “I’m leaving.”

“How does that even happen?” Kai asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“An extremely poor understanding of the French language,” Sehun says. “Which is why we always use our language mods.”

Sehun touches the soft part of his neck.

“He hears _matériel désarrois_ ,” he says, voice modulated, “when they say _ménage à trois.”_

Kai laughs hysterically, like a seal, clapping his hands and bouncing up and down in his seat.

“It was loud, okay? It was very loud, and it was an honest mistake,” Chanyeol says over the laughter which gets progressively louder. “Oh my god, I hate you both.”

 

⚠

 

It smells like ginger and soy, onion and garlic. Chanyeol’s mouth starts to water whenever he sees Kai walk to the kitchen now, conditioned to being well-fed.

“Holy fuck,” Sehun says, watching as Kai flips his stir fry together. “He’s better than Cara.”

Kai looks back over his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow at Sehun.

“Who’s Cara?” Kai asks.

“My…,” Sehun starts before he looks at Chanyeol, finishing lamely. “My friend.”

“Ah,” Kai says knowingly. “You have a maid-droid.”

Sehun shoots Chanyeol another look.

“Well, yes,” Sehun says. “If you must know, I do.”

“It’s okay,” Kai says, pouring the sauce into the wok and tossing everything together masterfully. “I’m familiar with those models.”

“You’re a lot different,” Sehun says. “You’re, like, eerily human.”

“Because everyone loves being called eerie,” Kai says.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Sehun says. “I wouldn’t think anything of it if I met you randomly is what I’m saying. They skipped uncanny valley, went right to...I don’t know. Human, I guess.”

Kai looks back over his shoulder, throws Sehun a pretty smile.

“Thank you,” Kai says. “Go sit, dinner’s ready.”

Sehun listens to Kai, which is more than he does for Chanyeol.

Sehun takes his seat, smirking at Chanyeol before reaching over and touching the pudgy part of Chanyeol’s stomach.

“How have you somehow lost weight?” Sehun asks, poking at him.

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, smacking Sehun’s hand away.

“If you like the recipe,” Kai says from the kitchen, “I can always send it to your droid.”

“Ah,” Sehun says, hands behind his head. “This is the height of luxury.”

“I’m gonna stab you,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun just smiles back at him, like he knows all Chanyeol’s secrets, even the ones Chanyeol doesn’t know himself.

 

⚠

 

He carefully loads the dishes into the washer, and Sehun stands across the kitchen, watching him with his arms folded.

“What?” Chanyeol asks, voice low, even though Kai can almost certainly hear him anyway. The apartment is small, and his hearing is unmatched.

“You just look really happy,” Sehun whispers. “I’m hurt.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, putting in the final dish and touching the button.

The steam immediately starts pouring out, and it’s sucked to the ceiling by the fan. Sehun looks up and watches as it swirls upwards, and Chanyeol watches him watch it.

“You’re a lot closer than I thought you’d be,” Sehun says, chin still tilted up

“Yeah?” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah,” Sehun says before looking back, staring straight through Chanyeol. “I thought maybe there’d be a weird phase.” 

“There was,” Chanyeol admits. “On my part.”

“Shocking,” Sehun snorts.

“Not funny,” Chanyeol says.

The machine beeps pleasantly, and Chanyeol opens the door. Sehun steps forward, starts grabbing plates and glasses and piling them into the cabinets mechanically. There’s silence, but it’s comfortable. It’s Sehun. They’ve done this a thousand, a hundred thousand times. But Chanyeol wants to...he wants to prove something to Sehun. That he’s improving. That he’s getting better.

He was static for so long. Stagnant.

Sehun stood by him, just like Kai said.

Chanyeol wants to get better. For Sehun. For himself.

“I’m gonna st--,” Chanyeol says before he changes his mind. It would sound so stupid to say it aloud.

“Gonna what?” Sehun asks, reaching up and putting a stack of dishes on the top shelf.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says.

He goes to grab another glass, but Sehun grabs him by the wrist.

“Fucker,” Sehun says. “He might be your _personal living companion,_ but I’m still your best friend.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, yanks away from Sehun.

“I’m serious,” Sehun says, whispering. “You cut me out of your life just because you got boy-toy over there, and I cut _you_.”

“Okay, I got it,” Chanyeol says. “I was just gonna say...he gave me a psy-val.”

Sehun’s movements freeze, and Chanyeol chances a glance at him. Pupils blown wide.

“Yeah?” Sehun says. “And that...that went okay?”

“Well, I’m still alive,” Chanyeol says, laughing a little brokenly. “No, but it, uh. It was good. I think.”

“So you’re--”

“Yeah, I’m gonna...I’m gonna see someone, I think,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun puts his hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders. Just holds him there for a second before pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I fuckin’ love you,” Sehun says, face smushed into Chanyeol’s neck.

“Don’t cry,” Chanyeol says.

“I’m not,” Sehun says. “I’m just glad that you finally--I’m just glad.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, voice faltering for a second. He clears his throat, blinks back tears. “Me too.”

It’s more emotion than Chanyeol can ever remember showing around Sehun, which feels like a victory in and of itself. Standing in the kitchen, Chanyeol holds him and lets himself be held in return. He doesn’t know how or why he ended up this way, only knows that they’re there and that he’s prevented himself from being as close to Sehun as he wants to be. Maybe...maybe he will get a chance to fix it. Maybe he will get a chance to make it alright.

“Are you almost done?” Kai’s voice calls from the living room.

Chanyeol sniffs, rubs at his eyes.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a light update this week--sry abt that! 
> 
> ive been having trouble getting motivated to write, but i think that is a by-product of being very tired and emotionally drained all the time. this story is a chore in that it is sometimes hard to write about depression tactfully, but my aim for this piece was and is to explore how mental health and platonic/romantic relationships intersect, and, in a way, examine my own issues while simultaneously making something (hopefully) beautiful in the process. 
> 
> as always, im on twitter (@wolfsupremacist) where i will sometimes retweet some funny things and sometimes tweet about my debilitating self-doubt, but most of the time, i will tweet updates of this story and any other stories to come. if you ever want to yell at me, there are plenty of places for you to do so. 
> 
> ok, friends. have a great week. be wonderful, you beautiful sunflower!


	6. six

Kai finds the doctor for him.

Chanyeol looks for a while, but he never manages to find one who feels like someone he could actually talk to. Kai, of course, manages.

Her name is Dr. Kang. Kai excitedly shows Chanyeol her picture, her qualifications flipping through the air as he scrolls with his finger.

“Born in Busan. She went to school in Japan,” Kai says. “Graduated with honors. Did her residency in Japan too. Came home to open a practice. Board certified for psychiatry and child psychiatry.”

“That sounds good,” Chanyeol says.

A bullet point list flips by, settles in front of where Chanyeol is sitting on the couch.

“Specializes in anxiety, depression, and drug abuse,” Chanyeol reads out. “Well, you got me there.”

“She comes highly recommended,” Kai says. “There’s some accounts. You can listen if you want.”

He slides them across the air, little audio files for Chanyeol to click on.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “Okay.”

He taps one, the voice heavily modulated, almost to the point of it being incomprehensible.

“Dr. Kang is different than other doctors,” the person says, garbled. “She really listens to you. Makes you feel heard. The way she runs her visits is unique, and it really helps open your eyes. Seeing her changed my life. If you’re thinking you need someone to talk to or you need some help, I really think you should give her a try. You won’t regret it. I certainly didn’t.”

“Wow,” Chanyeol says. “That sounds...like a lot.”

“Yeah,” Kai says. “You can keep looking if you want, but I thought she sounded...you know, I thought she sounded perfect.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “She does.”

“You wanna give it a shot?” Kai asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I do.”

 

⚠

 

The schedule is made for the following Sunday.

“You won’t have to think about work,” Kai says encouragingly. “You’ll go talk to her, come home, and we can watch more Fatality. I’ll make something gross for dinner.”

“Gross?” Chanyeol smiles. “How gross?”

“Something _fried_ ,” Kai says, like it’s a curse word.

“With cheese,” Chanyeol says.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Kai says.

Chanyeol sticks out his hand for Kai to shake on the deal, but Kai just grabs it, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. He doesn’t quite know his own strength yet, but Chanyeol doesn’t mind one bit.

Affection comes free. Gift with purchase.

“I’m proud of you,” Kai says into the fabric of Chanyeol’s shirt.

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, unable to get out that, if he didn’t have Kai, there would be nothing to be proud of.

 

⚠

 

The week comes, and it goes, and with each passing day, Chanyeol spends more and more time bathing. His whole body goes wrinkly in the hot water, scented with rosehip oil, but the anxiety sits in his stomach lowly, making it difficult to do anything else.

Kai knocks on the door each night, and the scene plays out much the same way.

“Hey,” he says after his characteristic knock. _Knock. Knock-knock. Knock._ His voice is muffled. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Kai asks.

“Of course I’m _fine_ ,” Chanyeol says.

“You’ve been in there for…,” he pauses. “Thirty five minutes.”

“Oh, have you timed me?” Chanyeol asks, snotty.

A pause.

“You’re in a bad mood,” Kai says. “Why?”

“I’m not in a bad mood,” Chanyeol argues.

“You’ve been getting progressively more agitated this week,” Kai says. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with your schedule for Sunday, would it?”

“No,” Chanyeol says.

“Right,” Kai says.

Another pause, this one longer. Chanyeol fidgets in the bath, rearranges his body, and some of the water splashes out onto the bathroom floor.

“Kai?” Chanyeol calls.

“Yes?” Kai answers.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “I thought you left.”

“No,” Kai says. “I’m just waiting for you to talk.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes.

He stands from the bath, water pouring off his body in one great sheet as the tub drains around him. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he dries his hair quickly before he wraps it around his lower body, and opening the door.

He finds Kai sitting against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees. He seems exceptionally small that way. He looks Chanyeol up and down for a moment.

“Hi,” he says, finally looking up at Chanyeol and smiling.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says.

“Are you alright?” Kai asks.

He’s being a dick. He knows that. He doesn’t want to excuse his behavior. He’s trying to grow. Be better. This should be a step forward, he reasons, not a step back.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I’m just nervous.”

Kai nods.

“Do you ever get nervous?” Chanyeol asks.

“What sort of question is that?” Kai laughs. “Of course I do.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says, brushing through his hair with a hand. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Kai says.

Kai offers him a smile like he extends a life preserver, and Chanyeol takes it gratefully.

“What...what do you do when you get nervous?” Chanyeol asks.

“It’s silly,” Kai says.

“Sillier than sitting in your own filth for an hour every day?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai rolls his eyes.

“I count in my head,” Kai says.

“You count in your head?” Chanyeol says.

Kai shrugs his shoulders, stands up.

“I count to sixty,” Kai says. “And suddenly, nothing is as bad as it seemed a minute ago.”

Kai has the sort of wisdom that you get from people when you least expect it. But Kai gives his wisdom like he would give someone water: freely, without a second thought. Chanyeol is already so dependent on it, so addicted to it, that he doesn’t know what he’d do without it.

“Go put on some clothes,” Kai smiles. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

Chanyeol looks down, sees the water on the hardwood.

He walks to his room quickly and tells himself he’ll mop up the puddle in the hallway after a moment.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol shoves his feet into his boots. He shouldn’t have drank that third coffee, nor should he have done it so fast. His hands shake a little, but he takes a big breath in, holds it for a second, and then lets it out.

“You have the…,” Kai says, before gesturing to his ear.

“Yep,” Chanyeol says.

“You can call me,” Kai says. “If you get lost or you need anything.”

“I’ll be okay,” Chanyeol laughs.

Kai furrows his brow, folds his arms.

“You’re especially relaxed,” Kai says. He crosses the room just as Chanyeol finishes tying up his laces.

Chanyeol stands up straight, faces Kai head on. Gives him a look.

“What’s gotten into you, hm?” Kai says. He gets a far-away look in his eye for a moment before he focuses on Chanyeol’s face again. “Your heart rate…”

Chanyeol takes Kai’s hand in his, brings it to his throat.

Chanyeol doesn’t know what’s gotten into him either, but he smiles when he unnecessarily directs Kai to press two fingers against his pulse point. It’s fast, but he’s not nervous.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, jittery, exhilarated. “What’s the worst that can happen, right? She tells me I’m crazy? I already knew that.”

Kai rolls his eyes, smacks Chanyeol on the shoulder.

“Be serious,” Kai says.

“I am,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t know. I’m...optimistic.”

Kai’s eyes are bright, happy. He likes seeing Kai this way. Wants to make it happen more. Wants Kai to look like this always, and because of him.

“I like hearing that,” Kai says. “Good luck, okay? And if you need me, you know how to get me.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

Kai pulls him into a hug, and in Kai’s arms, Chanyeol feels like he’s found his second home, though he could never say so aloud. 

 

⚠

 

The office is on the 44th floor, so Chanyeol shoots up in one of the terrifyingly high speed elevators that all the shiny new center-Seoul buildings are equipped with. Even as he hangs onto the rails inside, his stomach turns and turns at the feeling of being rocketed upwards and then falling in his body as the cabin comes to a stop.

“Forty-four,” the box says pleasantly as the doors slide open.

Chanyeol steps out, getting his bearings first before surveying his surroundings.

The corridor is brightly lit, artificial and clean white. Chanyeol wanders down to the correct office, sees “Dr. Kang” labeling the door, so he knows he’s in the right place.

He opens the door and steps inside.

The waiting room is spacious, bigger on the inside that Chanyeol would have assumed, and it’s beautiful. The walls and the carpeting are cream-colored, the couches various shades of camel and chestnut brown. On the far wall, where two doors lead back to offices, there is a mural painted there: two hands, from opposite sides, outstretched and clasped together among green and white shoots of bamboo.

There are plants all over, resting in corners and dotting the tops of the coffee tables and sitting next to the receptionist, who smiles Chanyeol over.

“Hi,” the girl says, hair in a slick ponytail. “Park Chanyeol?”

He nods.

“We have your files all ready,” she says. “If you could just check everything to make sure that our information is correct... “

She offers him a tablet. He slides his finger along the slippery screen to confirm the basic information.

“Yeah,” he says. “All good.”

“Excellent,” she says. “If you’ll just…”

And she sticks out a reader that he dutifully places his wrist to. It chimes happily.

“Wonderful,” she says. “You’re all set. The doctor will be with you in just a few moments. In the meantime, there’s water, coffee, and tea…”

She points back over Chanyeol’s shoulder to a drink maker.

“And there’s M-tablets,” she says, pointing to the coffee table. “In case you’d like to read. It shouldn’t be too long of a wait, though.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, “thank you.”

He takes a seat in the empty waiting room, spreading his legs wide and resting his head against the wall. He shuts his eyes. Folds his hands together. Tries not to think about how easy it would be to leave and not come back. It’s a wonder how easy it is to lose all the confidence he had built up.

Either time passes quickly or the receptionist was telling the truth, because not long after he shuts his eyes, content to wait, she calls his name. He opens his eyes to see her standing in front of him.

He stands.

“I’ll take you back now,” she says cheerfully.

Chanyeol follows her back through one of the doors that leads to an office. There’s a desk, an M-hub embedded in the ceiling, a big couch. Chanyeol looks around.

“She’ll be in in just a moment,” the girl says. “You can take a seat.”

Chanyeol sits obediently.

He debates texting Kai if not just for the opportunity to busy his hands and his mind, but he ends up just sitting there quietly until the door opens and Dr. Kang walks in.

She is tall, only six or seven centimeters shorter than he is when he stands to greet her. He looks down at her feet. She wears a heel, but it’s understated.

Her hair is long, but tucked into a twisting bun at the back of her head. She has dark rimmed glasses, red lips. She’s extremely pretty. Chanyeol bows, and she bows back.

“Chanyeol,” she greets. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Chanyeol says.

“Please,” she says, gesturing to the couch. “Sit. Be comfortable.”

Chanyeol sits down, and she mirrors him.

“How are you?” she asks.

Chanyeol thinks on it. How is he supposed to answer? Generally? Specifically? He’s had an okay morning, but on the whole, he’s not doing so well. Better as of late, of course, but...

“You can answer however you see fit,” she says. “There aren’t any rules here. We’re just two people having a conversation. Talking.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “I’m, uh, I’m okay.”

“That’s good,” she says. “How did you get here?”

“Skytrain,” Chanyeol says.

She nods.

“It was crowded,” Chanyeol says, if not just for something else to say. “I didn’t expect it to be so crowded on a Sunday.”

He’s used to the way the trains get stuffed with people on weekdays, of course, but he didn’t imagine it being half as full as it was when he came here, bodies pressed against him.

“Lots of people only get one day to go out,” she shrugs. “They try to make the most of it, I think.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “That makes sense.”

“What about you?” Dr. Kang asks. “What do you do on Sundays?” 

“Uh,” Chanyeol says. “I just...hang out mostly.”

She smiles. Should he keep talking? He doesn’t know.

“Do you get days off?” Chanyeol asks. “I mean, since I’m here…”

She laughs, cheerful. Not mocking at all. The tone of it relaxes him a bit.

“I get some days off,” she says. “But I really like working, so it isn’t bad. I like talking to people. It’s my favorite thing to do.”

 _I wish I felt that way_ , Chanyeol thinks. It used to be one of his favorite things to do. But now...now, it seems like everything’s changed, everything gone fallow and rotten around him.

“What would you be doing?” she asks. “If you weren’t here?”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t know. Probably watching something with…”

He stops himself short.

“With?” she prompts.

“With Kai,” Chanyeol says. And he looks down at his hands.

“Your expression just changed,” she says. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“How do you feel about Kai?” she asks.

“I like him,” Chanyeol says, staring down at his cuticles, absently pushing them back with his thumb nail.

“That’s good,” she says. “You seem hesitant to talk about him.”

“I guess,” Chanyeol says.

“There’s nothing wrong with having someone like Kai,” Dr. Kang assures him.

“I guess not,” Chanyeol says. “I just don’t...I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

“You think people would judge you for it?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “It’s getting more...more normal, I guess. But I was just...in a bad place, I guess. I needed someone.”

“It takes a lot of introspection to come to that conclusion,” she says. “And it takes a lot of strength to identify when you have a problem and then act on solving it.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know what to say, just fiddles with his hands.

“How long has Kai been in your life?” Dr. Kang asks.

“About a month now,” Chanyeol says.

She smiles, encouraging. In a way, it reminds him of Kai. The gentleness of it.

“Are you close?” she asks.

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says. “He’s...he’s becoming one of my best friends.”

“One of?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“Who else is important to you?” she asks, and Chanyeol finds it very easy to talk about Sehun for the next several minutes.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol shuts the door and works on untying his shoes.

“Chanyeol?” Kai calls.

“Yeah,” he answers.

Kai races out to the entryway and watches as Chanyeol gets his boots off.

“So,” Kai says. 

“So,” Chanyeol says, standing up straight.

“How was it?” Kai asks carefully.

“It was...it was kind of weird,” Chanyeol says.

Kai’s face falls.

“Oh,” he says.

“Not...not weird in a bad way,” Chanyeol hurries. “It just wasn’t really what I expected, I guess.”

“Oh,” Kai says. His smile is subtle, the look of sadness gone. “Well, if it didn’t work out, there’s no harm done, we can always keep looking for someone who fits what yo--”

“I made a second appointment,” Chanyeol interjects.

“What?” Kai asks.

“I thought your hearing was supposed to be good,” Chanyeol smiles. “I said I made a second appointment.”

“You did?” Kai asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t know. We just talked. She didn’t...it didn’t feel like she was being paid to be there. It felt like, I don’t know, like we were just talking.”

“That’s good,” Kai says. “So you wanna do it again?”

“I think so,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’ll work or anything, but…”

“But it’s worth a shot,” Kai says.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Worth a shot.”

 

⚠

 

He goes every Sunday.

Every Sunday, he gets homework.

“You’ve acknowledged that you have issues with intimacy,” Dr. Kang says. “Let’s start working on that.”

She has her hands folded in her lap, smiling at him with her same bright white smile, lips painted with that classic red color.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “What should I do?”

“This week,” she says, “pick a person that you’d like to get closer to. And practice being vulnerable with them.”

Chanyeol twists his hands in his lap.

“Okay,” he says, already dreading it.

“Try to open up,” she says. “Try to learn more about them, and let them learn more about you in return. Because friendship, and the love that goes along with friendships, requires this kind of exchange. You need to open yourself to the love.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “Open myself up to the love.”

“You got it,” she says, standing up and offering Chanyeol her hand to shake. “Good work today.”

 

⚠

 

“Grab the chips too,” Kai orders from the couch, feet on the coffee table.

Chanyeol obeys the order, grabbing the bag of chips and stuffing it under his arms while carefully carrying out the two large glasses, filled to the brim with the fizzing juice.

“Mm,” Kai says, grabby hands. “I’ve been craving nectar all day.”

“Same,” Chanyeol says.

There’s something about the sweetness, the effervescence, the brightness of the added vita that really improves his mood. Kai introduced him to it, and Chanyeol’s glad for it: Chanyeol used to drink sludgy soft drinks, dark liquor, and beer almost exclusively. He’s felt more energetic in the recent weeks, and it isn’t hard to figure out why

“Which episode were we on?” Kai asks, flipping through the air. “Eight?”

“Eight,” Chanyeol confirms. “But you weren’t paying attention during seven.”

“True,” Kai says. “Okay, we’ll rewatch seven.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, settling back in the couch as Kai taps the episode, joining Chanyeol along the back cushion as the familiar music begins to play.

Chanyeol stares forward, but he feels Kai’s eyes on him as the opening credits play. Chanyeol cannot resist, so he looks over to Kai, his body filled with warmth when he sees Kai’s smile.

“How did today go?” Kai asks.

“It went good,” Chanyeol says, trying to follow Dr. Kang’s directives. “We talked about work, and uh, anime.”

“Oh yeah?” Kai asks. “Already planning out what we’re gonna watch next?”

“I thought I’d let you pick,” Chanyeol says.

“Awfully nice of you,” Kai says, nudging his shoulder into Chanyeol’s.

Chanyeol nudges him back, and Chanyeol notes that every time Kai smiles, it is more dazzling than the last time he saw it.

“She told me, uh,” Chanyeol starts, but stops short. An ingrained response.

“What did she tell you?” Kai asks.

“She told me to try and be vulnerable,” Chanyeol says. “With someone.”

“Yeah?” Kai asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “So I think...I mean, I think I’m gonna try that.”

“Okay,” Kai says.

He puts his hand on Chanyeol’s knee.

“Anytime you wanna be vulnerable,” Kai says, too serious to be actually serious, “just let me know.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes.

“You love me,” Kai smiles, and he leans his head on Chanyeol’s shoulders, watching as episode seven finally begins.

 _Yeah,_ Chanyeol thinks. _I do._

Doctor Kang’s words ring in his ears. He swallows his spit.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, just barely getting it out.

Kai’s eyes meet his, and Chanyeol looks down: Kai's lips, pretty and red. Chanyeol stares a little too long.

“I love you too,” Kai says, smiling.

It’s liquid sugar, all through him. Gold and amber, glistening over him.

It’s not so bad, Chanyeol thinks: being vulnerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on vacation this week! yayyyyyyyyy! im gonna try to do lots of writing and get nice and rejuvenated for the week to come! 
> 
> i hope you liked this update! if you've been enjoying this series, do let me know! i thrive entirely on positive reinforcement, so leave a kudos, a comment here or on twitter, a question on curiouscat, etc.....i dont want to belabor the point or nothin, but it keeps writers writing. 
> 
> and i just wanna make sure you all know how grateful i am to you for reading. i mean, fic is silly, but it is also one of the best, most enjoyable ways i get to express my creativity, and any time i get a lil notification for a kudos or a comment im like "aw, yeah,,,,,righteous" lol 
> 
> anyway ya im a little drunk but also im on vacation, sue me. no wait, dont sue me thats the opposite of the point im trying to make. 
> 
> thank u very much for hanging out with me, for being a part of my Experience, and for being alive in general. i love u lots. have a good week, u stunning angels


	7. seven

“You feel like it’s helping?” Kai asks.

Kai has his hands shoved in his jean pockets, his favorite pair that are so long that they drag along the concrete. They’re walking along the street, sidewalks starting to light up along the edges. They’ve taken to walking at night, a suggestion from Dr. Kang. Chanyeol likes it. There is a lot of stimuli: light shows and holograms and people moving around, yelling, laughing. Sober and drunk alike. It’s a good distraction, he’s found. A lot to look at. A lot to take in.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I think it’s helping.”

Chanyeol looks to him, sees him smile, look Chanyeol up and down consideringly.

“I think so too,” Kai says. “You’ve seemed happier.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know how much is Dr. Kang and the subtle changes he’s made in his life and how much is Kai. Just Kai.

“I am,” Chanyeol says.

He doesn’t expand upon it where he could: he is a work in progress, just like Dr. Kang always says. He is not something to be solved, something to be fixed. He is making adjustments, and slowly, slowly, they are bearing fruit.

He _has_ been getting happier. It’s a struggle some days, and some days he doesn’t want to get out of bed, but most of the time, he feels...invigorated. He’s thought less and less about honey. It’s always going to be a part of him, of course, but it doesn’t have to be the only thing about him.

They don’t talk for quite a while, so Chanyeol takes in their surroundings: two girls are standing, sharing a can of water as they lean against a building. Kai and Chanyeol pass them by, and one of them smiles at Chanyeol. He smiles back.

They come upon a giant hologram that’s beaconed into the sky. Joy. She smiles so bright. It’s no wonder why she’s so popular.

“Have you met a Joy?” Kai asks.

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve seen a couple, though.”

Kai makes a noise, something like affirmation.

“I met one. She changed her name to Mirae,” Kai says. “She’s really nice.”

“That’s nice,” Chanyeol says. “Where did you meet her?”

“The produce place,” Kai smiles. “She works there.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “That’s good.”

“She said she’d keep an eye out,” Kai says shyly. “For work for me.”

Chanyeol smiles.

“That’s really good,” Chanyeol says.

Kai reaches out a hand just as they come upon the river. It glitters in the night, blue and pink and green with the light of the city.

Chanyeol takes Kai’s hand in his. Another suggestion of Dr. Kang’s. When someone offers you affection, you are allowed to reciprocate. It is good that you reciprocate.

The more Kai offers, the more Chanyeol allows himself to reciprocate...the happier Chanyeol gets.

They stand there, looking out over the river. It is a carbon copy of several nights over the last week. Chanyeol is falling into the rhythm of their friendship, into the steady, beating rhythm of his new world, and it is dizzyingly good.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol still goes to Dr. Kang’s every Sunday, reliably.

Sometimes they talk about Chanyeol’s family. Sometimes they talk about work. Sometimes they talk about his addictions or the ways his illness presents itself or his strengths and weaknesses.

Sometimes they talk about nothing in particular.

Sometimes Chanyeol recounts the night before, Kai and him sitting on the couch, hands stuffed into a bag of cheese-pops, enraptured by the latest episode of Princess Fatality or more recently, Nighttime Mystery. Sometimes Chanyeol talks about the different things they picked up in the market the Sunday prior, Kai meeting him there after Chanyeol’s appointment. Sometimes, Chanyeol tells Dr. Kang about what Kai made for dinner throughout the week, struggling mightily to teach Chanyeol the basics, or what Kai told him about his new friends, Mirae, Jimin, and Seojun, or the job that Kai is searching for.

“You talk about him a lot,” Dr. Kang says as their hour comes to a close.

Chanyeol rubs at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I guess,” Chanyeol says.

“You have a very close relationship. It’s grown a lot over the past several weeks,” she notes. “I think that’s very good. How do you feel about it?”

“I...I mean, me too, I think it's good,” Chanyeol says. “It makes me feel...I don’t know, it makes me feel less like I’m spiraling. If that makes sense.”

“It does,” she says. “Friends are good ways to anchor yourself. They provide a bulk of the emotional support that you need to survive.”

 _Support,_ Chanyeol thinks. It _has_ been nice having that support. Someone to fall back on. Someone who helps, someone for Chanyeol to help in return.

“We’ve talked at length about your history with addiction,” Dr. Kang says, shifting gears as she’s wont to do. “Do you think it’s possible to get addicted to a person?”

Chanyeol thinks on it for a moment or two. _Could_ he get addicted to a person?

“I guess so,” Chanyeol says. “I think I’ve come to the realization that I could get addicted to anything, really.”  

“That’s an interesting outlook,” she says. “Would you elaborate?”

“Uh,” Chanyeol says, not sure where to go with it. Sometimes that happens. Dr. Kang has encouraged him to talk without fear, though, so that’s what he tries to do. “I dunno. I guess it’s just like...if you like anything enough, if you like the feeling it gives you enough, you’re naturally gonna come to, I don’t know, _obsess_ over it, I guess.”

“And that goes for anything?” she asks.

“Mostly,” Chanyeol shrugs.

“I wonder...how do we find a way for you to interact with things in a healthy way?” she asks. “Things that you enjoy? Because we’ve established the line between enjoyment and obsession, and we’ve talked about how we develop our addictions, so I wonder where your line is. What I mean to say is this: how do we learn not to stake parts of our identities in the things we consume? Or the things we watch and listen to? Or the people we love?”

“Wow,” Chanyeol says. “Uh, I don’t know. You’re kind of...blowing my mind.”

She laughs, a pretty white smile painted on her face.

“I guess that’s enough for today,” she says. “Something to think about for next time.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“And a little homework assignment,” she says. “Try to jot down a snapshot of what you consider yourself to be.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says warily.

“Write down the essence of your identity,” Dr. Kang says. “If you had to distill yourself down to a couple words, that is.”

“Alright,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll try.”

She smiles again.

“That’s all I ask,” she says. “Good session, Chanyeol.”

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol walks down the steps into the market, and he sees Kai leaning against the wall once he gets to the bottom.

“Hey,” Kai says. “How’d it go?”

He always asks, which Chanyeol finds cute. Chanyeol never goes into too much detail, except when he has homework or wants to try integrating a new suggestion of Dr. Kang’s, but Kai always asks anyway.

“It was good, I think,” Chanyeol says. “I’m hungry.”

“What are you hungry for?” Kai asks. “Chicken?”

He has hope in his eyes. Kai eats healthy food. For the most part.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and Kai scrunches up his nose happily.

“Chicken it is,” Kai says, leading him off to their favorite place.

 

⚠

 

The containers that Kai brings back to the table are hard plastic and filled with the best fried chicken Chanyeol’s ever had.

“Beer?” Kai offers.

Chanyeol nods, feeling a bit self-conscious. He’s made an effort not to drink around Kai, both for fear of being too honest, too open, too much of himself, and for fear of eliciting jealousy. He still thinks back to the first time he offered Kai alcohol and cringes over it.

“Can’t,” Kai had said before he added smugly, “didn’t you read the fine print?”

Chanyeol had furrowed his brow, and Kai had smugly pulled up the SMRobotics site in the air, reading the asterisked part aloud: _unfortunately, at the current juncture, consumption of alcohol is inadvisable with all current and past PLC models. For further information, please contact customer service through your earpiece._

Chanyeol has since abstained.

It doesn’t stop Kai from offering. And honestly, Chanyeol misses beer. So instead of abstaining, this time, he nods.

Kai grins, like his master plan is finally in effect. Chanyeol fears for his life: the mischievous grins are always the most dangerous for Chanyeol.

“You should get drunk,” Kai says. “I’ve never seen you drunk before.”

“And for good reason,” Chanyeol grimaces.

“Come _on,”_ Kai whines. “It’ll be _fun._ And you only have to do it once. And I’ll make sure to take care of you.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, but when he looks at Kai again, God, it’s so easy to fall for his tricks. He is too pretty for his own good, too sweet. Worst of all is that he knows it.

“Fine,” Chanyeol says. “Get a pitcher, I guess.”

Kai pumps his fist obnoxiously before calling for the ahjussi running the register.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol burps, and it seemingly goes on forever.

“Ew,” Kai says, scrunching up his nose. “You’re gross.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol smiles. “Kinda.”

“There’s nothing _kinda_ about it,” Kai says. “Where are your table manners?”

Chanyeol looks around dramatically, all of the afternoon patrons of the chicken place either buzzed, drunk, or on their way to one of the two. The laughter is raucous, boisterous, jubilant.

“Fine,” Kai says. “I guess it’s not exactly fine dining.”

Chanyeol smirks, grabs his stein, and knocks back what’s left of his beer before refilling it.

“You can drink a lot,” Kai says in wonder. “You don’t even look that drunk.”

He frowns, like he was expecting Chanyeol to be stumbling, falling off his chair. Chanyeol smiles thinking about it.

“I’ve been drinking since I was fifteen,” Chanyeol confides.

“ _Fifteen_ ,” Kai says, scandalized. “The legal drinking age is…”

“Yes, I know what the legal drinking age is,” Chanyeol laughs. “Believe it or not, I didn’t really care.”

Kai smiles.

“So you used to ditch studies to go drink with your friends?” Kai asks, elbows perched on the little table, chin in his hands. “Where’d you get the alcohol?”

“One of my classmates was pretty good at hacking,” Chanyeol says. “He’d go into the system, age us up. We’d order what we wanted, then once the transaction was complete, he’d age us back down.”

Kai’s eyes go wide.

“That’s a serious crime,” Kai says.

“It is,” Chanyeol nods. “Believe it or not, we--”

“Didn’t really care,” Kai finishes, rolling his eyes. “I get it. You little monsters...running around, breaking into the most secure database in the country, just so you could go get vodka.”

“ _Please_ ,” Chanyeol scoffs. “Soju.”

“Ah,” Kai says, smiling. “Weaklings.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, laughing. “You’ve never had it, so you wouldn’t know, would you?”

As soon as he’s said it, he realizes what a mistake he’s made: Kai’s face falls ten stories, and Chanyeol’s stomach goes with it.

“I didn’t--I didn’t mean it like that,” Chanyeol says.

“No,” Kai smiles, fake and saccharine, “it’s okay.”

 _It isn’t,_ Chanyeol’s brain says. _It isn’t okay. Look at him. Look at his face._

“It’s not,” Chanyeol says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kai says, still smiling.

It’s the most robotic he’s ever looked, his acquiescence so plastic that it sticks in Chanyeol’s head. He doesn’t ever want to make Kai look like that again, not _ever._ He wants the playful Kai. He wants the argumentative Kai. He wants the fiery, the petty, the childish Kai.

“Don’t,” Chanyeol says. “Don’t say it’s fine when it isn’t.”

Kai huffs out a breath, looks over at another table before looking back at Chanyeol. He frowns.

“Fine,” he says. “That kind of thing is just...kind of upsetting to me.”

“I know,” Chanyeol says. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake, and I didn’t mean it.”

Kai smiles, but this time, it is what Chanyeol has come to know, has come to love. Genuine. Pure.

“I know,” Kai says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Chanyeol says. “It was my fault.”

“No, it’s just...I know you aren’t like that,” Kai says. “You’d never try to hurt me.”

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I wouldn’t.”

Kai laughs a little.

“This is why I didn’t wanna drink,” Chanyeol says, holding his head in his hands before looking back up at Kai, gesturing between them. “One sober person and one drunk person. That’s the worst combination in the world.”

Kai leans across the table. And Chanyeol’s breath catches in his throat, Kai’s face so close to his. It makes him think...think of the things he thinks about late at night, when he’s alone in his bed and the world is quiet, save for his breath, labored and fractured. Things he tries not to think about, things he tries to forget.

Shame sits in his stomach like hot, acidic alcohol, rising to flame at his cheeks.

He looks at Kai’s mouth before he’s able to flick his eyes back up to meet Kai’s.

“Why’s that?” Kai asks. “Gonna spill all your secrets?”

“I might,” Chanyeol says, “if I have any more.”  

Kai smiles, leans back. He grabs the pitcher, pours Chanyeol another glass before sliding it into his hand.  

“Drink up,” Kai says.

 

 

⚠

 

It hits him all at once, of course. Chanyeol’s always had a problem with drinking too fast and not realizing the consequences of it until he’s much too drunk to understand them.

“Fuck,” Kai curses. “You’re heavy.”

“You don’t curse,” Chanyeol says, looking down at Kai. “What are you cursing for?”

Kai readjusts Chanyeol’s arms wrapped tight around his neck before pausing to hike Chanyeol up on his back.

“I’m cursing because you are heavy,” Kai says.

“Your fault,” Chanyeol sighs. “All your fault.”

Kai laughs softly, and Chanyeol closes his eyes, rests his chin over Kai’s shoulder. He could fall asleep like this. In fact, he might. Kai is strangely gentle with him, and it’s calming, being carried along the dark streets. He opens his eyes for a moment before they flutter closed again on their own accord.

“Yah,” Kai says, wiggling Chanyeol’s legs in his hands. “Wake up.”

“Can’t,” Chanyeol says. “I’m asleep.”

“Wake up,” Kai says. “God, this was a bad idea.”

“Your fault,” Chanyeol sings, repeating himself. “All your fault.”

“I know, I know,” Kai says. “Never again, I promise you that.”

Kai dutifully carries Chanyeol up to the apartment, never pausing to set him down or to take a break. Chanyeol tightens his arms around Kai’s neck, the closest thing to a hug he can manage in his current position. He loves Kai, loves him stupidly, loves him madly.

“I know,” Kai says. “I love you too.”

When Chanyeol opens his eyes again, they’re home.

He smiles.

“Wrist out,” Kai commands.

Chanyeol offers his wrist to the reader on the door, grinning when the door unlocks. Kai gingerly sets him down once they’re inside.

“Come on,” Kai says, grabbing him by the hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, happy to be led.

Kai takes him through the apartment, and Chanyeol yawns with a bit of a stumble. He pulls gently on Kai’s hand, and it manages to keep him standing up.

“Here we go,” Kai says, and backs Chanyeol up so that his knees are against the foot of his bed. “Sit.”

Chanyeol sits.

“Do you need help?” Kai asks.

“Help with what?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai rolls his eyes. Chanyeol smiles. He loves when Kai does that.

“Getting undressed?” Kai asks.

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I can do it.”

“Okay,” Kai says. “You get undressed and get in bed. I’ll go get you some water and some vita.”

“Alright,” Chanyeol says. “Thank you.”

Kai smiles and leaves Chanyeol to his task.

Chanyeol grabs the bottom hem of his shirt, left hand crossed over his right, and as he lifts the shirt up and over his head, his arms somehow get tangled in the fabric. He struggles and struggles, stretching out the shirt terribly as he tries to right his massive wrong.

Eventually, he flops back on the bed, exhausted, shirt still up around his head. Laying back, he can see through the shirt thanks to the light. It’s all pretty and blue. He closes his eyes. He’s so tired. He’ll fix the shirt in a minute. Even if he doesn’t, it wouldn’t be so bad to sleep in his clothes. He’s done worse things in his life, he reasons.

“Hey!”

Chanyeol flails wildly as he tries to sit up straight, arms whipping around in the shirt-cocoon he’s somehow managed to get himself into.

“Oh my god,” Kai says, and thankfully, Chanyeol can hear the laugh. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”

“I got stuck,” Chanyeol mumbles.

“You sure did,” Kai says. “Come on, sit up, I’ll help you.”

Chanyeol puts effort into his core and sits up, breath all stale and gross in his mouth. He needs that water.

“Help me,” Chanyeol says, wiggling his arms around. “I can’t get out.”

“Just stay still,” Kai laughs.

Chanyeol feels Kai’s hands on him for a few tragically short seconds before he’s freed, Kai’s delighted face before him.  

“Why was that so easy for you?” Chanyeol wonders.

“I’m sober,” Kai says before offering him the water and the vita. “Drink.”

He alternates back and forth between the glasses of the water and the vita, one big gulp of one before another big gulp of the other. It takes him a while, but he finally manages to empty the glasses.

“Ugh,” Chanyeol says, the fake citrus taste going down chalky and unpleasant, churning in his stomach. He clutches his abdomen. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Really?” Kai asks. “Should we move? Should I get you--”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “Just...lemme--”

“We can wait a minute,” Kai says.

Chanyeol focuses on his breathing for a couple seconds, swallows all of the saliva pooling in his mouth. It’s then that Kai puts his hand on Chanyeol’s sweaty forehead, his touch the perfect cold compress, immediately sobering, settling Chanyeol’s stomach within an instant.

“Ah,” Chanyeol moans.

“Better?” Kai asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, but he takes Kai’s hand in his and moves it to where he wants it: the back of his neck. “Ah.”

“That’s it,” Kai says. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol agrees.

They stay there for a while, or maybe not. Chanyeol can’t be sure. He just looks up at Kai standing above him, right between Chanyeol’s split legs. God, Chanyeol thinks, _god._ Kai is so beautiful, his skin so soft and clear.

“Are you feeling better?” Kai asks. “I can bring you to the bathroom if you think you might be sick.”

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I’m okay now.”

“Okay,” Kai says. “Come on. Let’s get your jeans off.”

Chanyeol swallows over the lump in his throat as he fumbles with his buckle. He tries closing one eye, and it helps for a moment, suddenly everything looking correct before he forgets, opens his eye, and everything is doubled again.

“Do you need help?” Kai asks.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, trying to stave off the thought of Kai’s hands at his belt. “No, I can get it.”

He works for another couple seconds, barely making any headway before Kai kneels in front of him and smacks his hands out of the way, deftly starts unbuckling the belt.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says weakly.

“You’re taking too long,” Kai says, eyes trained on an area too close to Chanyeol’s crotch, and Chanyeol looks up to the ceiling, can’t possibly look down, because if he did, he’d have to watch Kai kneeling between his legs. And that’s not something he can just watch.

Chanyeol shuts his eyes, tries to focus. He’s too drunk for this.

He feels fingers at his button before its flicked open, and then he hears the zipper being undone slowly, carefully. He can barely breathe, it’s so tense.

“Okay,” Kai says, patting Chanyeol on the thighs twice. “Up.”

Chanyeol looks down, hands planted back on the bed as he lifts his hips up, Kai shucking him of his pants in two, three pulls. They pool at Chanyeol’s feet, spread across Kai’s lap, before Kai gently pulls Chanyeol’s left, then right foot free, folding the jeans more carefully than he needs.

Kai looks up at Chanyeol. He is fresh-faced and perfect. Kneeling for Chanyeol.

And for all the haze in Chanyeol’s head, the way his eyes can’t seem to focus correctly, he can still feel the heat between them, feet to the fire as Kai looks into his eyes. Chanyeol wants to say something, say _anything,_ but he can’t think of what to say. _I’ve thought about kissing you,_ he thinks. _Because you’re so pretty and so nice,_ he thinks. _I like you so much, but I don’t want to scare you away_ , he thinks.

He doesn’t say any of it, just watches as Kai’s face goes fond and soft, the moment finally broken into something tender. Sweet.

“Lay down,” Kai finally says. “You need to get some rest.”

Kai helps move him back up the bed, pulling the covers over him before tucking them around him, and Chanyeol sighs. He could get used to being treated this way: like he mattered something fierce. Like he was something to be protected.

“Be good, okay?” Kai orders, a hand on Chanyeol’s forehead, brushing away the sweaty hair. “Ping me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, only _barely_ holding back telling Kai what he really needs: Kai’s body against his, curled up behind him, bringing him to sleep, wrapped in his embrace.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Kai says, walking to the door. “Good night, Chanyeol.”

“Good night,” Chanyeol murmurs.

Kai shuts the door softly behind him as he leaves, and it’s only a few moments more before Chanyeol falls into dreams of Kai’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the horror stories i have from drinking too much....a whole mess. please indulge responsibly, friends! and dont underage drink! hopefully its too late for that warning for u tho lmao 
> 
> anyway: things are finally heating up! im sorry that my stories always take like, 20 thousand words to get to Stuff. mayhaps i talk too much lol 
> 
> if ur new here, hello! my name is katya, i update circuit breaker every tuesday around 8pm EST. you can 1) follow my Writing/Descent Into Madness and 2) get in contact with me on twitter @wolfsupremacist. if ur concerned abt anonymity, u can always leave an anon comment here (which i will absolutely respond to) or hit up my curiouscat (which i will absolutely answer), linked at my twitter! dont be shy! send me a prompt and i can almost guarantee ill give u a lil somethin
> 
> finally, if u like circuit breaker, consider giving my other stuff a Shot. this is my first chankai, but....u never know! u might find a pairing that you enjoy ♡ 
> 
> ok ok enough of me. hope you have a great week. i mean, park chanyeol has blond hair, so how could u not? love u muchly, you beautiful tropical fish ♡♡♡


	8. eight

Kai is beautiful, and it is so hard to ignore, now that the dam has broke and he’s let himself start thinking the things he shouldn’t be thinking in the first place.

“Was I bad?” Chanyeol asks.

“Not that bad,” Kai laughs, wiping away the sweat from Chanyeol’s forehead with a wet cloth. “You were funny.”

“Funny how?” Chanyeol asks, narrowing his eyes.

“You kept telling me you loved me,” Kai says, just as easily as he says everything else. Like Chanyeol’s heart isn’t sitting in Kai’s delicate hands.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “Sorry.”

Kai frowns.

“What are you apologizing for?” Kai asks.

 _Liking you,_ Chanyeol thinks. _Liking you so much that sometimes I can’t stop myself from thinking about you._

“Drinking so much,” Chanyeol says. “Never again.”

Kai throws his head back, and Chanyeol is glued to the movement, the pretty bob of his Adam’s apple. The detail is so perfect, so pristine, that no one could ever, ever tell Kai wasn’t perfectly, pristinely human. Unless, of course, they went looking for a serial number or a button.

“Agreed,” Kai says. “You’re too heavy to carry all the way back.”

Chanyeol swats at Kai’s arm, and he’s glad Kai is still Kai. Chanyeol might be fucked up, might be totally lost and beyond repair, but Kai always seems to be there, willing to drag him back towards normal.

 

⚠

 

"Wanna take a walk?" Kai offers.

Chanyeol is tired, but he slips into his boots anyway, shoving a hat over his messy, unwashed hair, and following Kai down to the elevator. 

"Where do you wanna go?" Chanyeol yawns. 

"I don't know," Kai says wistfully. "Just thought it would be nice to get out for a while." 

"Sure," Chanyeol says. "You can take lead." 

"Alright," Kai says. 

Chanyeol finds the silence comforting, like wrapping himself in blankets during a thunderstorm, so he revels in it as they stroll, the pace slow and meandering. They pass stores with neon lights, they pass vending machines clanking out energy tabs and snacks, they pass people gathered in groups, dressed like they're trying to get to hell. It's calming, and maybe Kai can sense when he needs this now. Or maybe Kai just needs it himself. 

"How was your day?" Chanyeol asks. 

"What?" Kai says.

"How was your day?" Chanyeol repeats. 

"Oh, uh," Kai says. "It was good. I went...I went out with some friends." 

It puts a little burn in his stomach, but he swallows, and it goes away. 

"I'm glad," Chanyeol says, reaching out to take Kai's hand in his, "that you have people you like." 

Kai looks between them, looks at their hands clasped together. Chanyeol resists the urge to immediately pull away as if he's been burned. He holds Kai's hand tight through the inspection, relieved when Kai squeezes Chanyeol's hand in his 

"It's good," Kai says. "They're nice." 

Chanyeol smiles. Whatever makes Kai happy, he tells himself. 

"Okay," Kai says, pulling on Chanyeol's hand. "I have something I want to show you." 

"Oh?" Chanyeol says. 

"Yeah," Kai says. "As long as you don't mind a little walk." 

"I don't," Chanyeol says, wants to say  _as long as you hold my hand._

Thankfully, Kai doesn't let go of Chanyeol's hand the whole walk there, just occasionally directing him on where to walk by gently pulling Chanyeol where he wants them to go. Chanyeol is eager to be led, his heart thumping wildly at his neck. He smiles. He hasn't felt this way in a long, long time, so long that he almost forgot what it was like. A  _crush_ , he thinks. How silly. 

But when Kai stops them both in front of the mural, glass and lights that glitter like stars embedded in the brick wall, streaked with paint. It's a heavily machinated hand, one of the earliest iterations of the droids, holding hands with a human hand, all flesh and bone. 

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Kai asks, eyes light and hopeful. "Like us." 

Chanyeol looks at him, the sincerity there. 

"Yes," Chanyeol says. "Very pretty. Like us."  

 

⚠

 

 _chanyeol,_ he writes at the top of the page.

All of the things that flood to mind are negative. _Lazy,_ he thinks. _Untalented. Drains energy. A former user. An addict._ But he’s been seeing Dr. Kang for long enough to start coaching himself through shit like that. He hears her voice in her head, already questioning him. _What are your reasons for thinking this? Is there evidence to support this? If you were to think of this positively, how would you perceive it? Can you find out if these things are true? Do whatever you can to put these ideas in perspective._

“I have never seen you with a pen before,” Kai remarks, laughing.

Chanyeol looks up, sees him with folded arms. He looks soft, wearing a heater-grey crew-neck sweatshirt that has the SMRobotics logo on it, sweatpants hung low on his hips, barefoot. He belongs here, Chanyeol realizes.

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, tugging the pad of paper close to his chest.

Kai pads over, sits too close to him on the couch. Chanyeol wants, in some growing part of himself, to lean into the touch. It’s been a very long time. He was lonely for so long.

“What are you working on?” Kai asks.

“Nothing important,” Chanyeol says.

Kai makes a dissatisfied noise with his mouth, but Chanyeol knows he won’t push it. He thinks that maybe Kai does that on purpose. Maybe Kai is giving him a bridge to walk across. Maybe Kai doesn’t want to pull him across. Maybe Kai wants him to walk across on his own.

“I…” Chanyeol says. “I’m just doing this thing.”

“What thing?” Kai asks. Eyes bright and warm.

“Homework,” Chanyeol says. He lowers the page down, shows his name spelled out on top of the page. “I have to write words about myself. To like, sum myself up.”

“Ah,” Kai says. “That should be fun.”

Chanyeol frowns.

“What?” Kai says.

“I kinda...I kinda don’t know what to put,” Chanyeol says. “I keep thinking of things I know aren’t good.”

“Hm,” Kai says. “Like what?”

 _Ugly,_ Chanyeol thinks. _Useless. Unremarkable._

“Bad things,” Chanyeol says.

“Well,” Kai says, and he wraps an arm around Chanyeol’s shoulder. “Should I help you?”

“Only if you want,” Chanyeol says.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want,” Kai says, squeezing Chanyeol into his side a little. “I’ll just give you one to get you started, okay?”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“When I think of you,” Kai says, “I think _survivor._ ”

Chanyeol frowns again.

“You’re a lot stronger than you think you are,” Kai says. “You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit for surviving. You’ve been through a lot. You’ve made it through your worst days. And you’re still here. Still fighting.”

Chanyeol looks down at his paper, the blank space.

“Does that help?” Kai asks.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says, but he wants to say _more than you’ll ever know._

 

⚠

 

“Go ahead,” she says.

“Uh,” he says, holding up the paper in front of him. “Friend.”

“Very good,” she praises.

“Loyal,” he says.

“Excellent,” she says.

“Grateful,” he says.

“Wonderful,” she says.

“Addict,” he says, and she pauses, so he finishes. “Survivor.”

Her smiles sinks into his skin, and it’s enough to make Chanyeol think she really cares about him. The thought is addicting.

“I am very happy with your work,” she says. “Consider my expectations exceeded.”

 

⚠

 

It is an excruciatingly long day at work, one that makes it difficult to focus on anything besides the pounding in his head as he raises his wrist to the reader, stepping across the threshold into the apartment. This was the kind of day that would have incapacitated Chanyeol just a couple weeks prior. This was the kind of day that threatened at his sobriety. He shakes his head, shakes away the thoughts. It’s over. It’s fine.

“Chanyeol?” Kai calls.

“Home,” Chanyeol says, toeing off his shoes at the door and setting his bag down beside it.

“You sound tired,” Kai replies. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Chanyeol says.

Kai appears, a little frazzled, a dark blue apron folded in half and wrapped around his waist and a spoon in his hand. The concern he wears is comforting, and the pain that shocks at Chanyeol’s temples lessens because of it.

“How was your day?” Chanyeol asks.

“I…,” Kai stumbles. “My day was good.”

“What did you do?” Chanyeol asks, approaching Kai slowly.

“I...I went to the market,” Kai says. “Picked up more oats, since you like them so much.”

Chanyeol smiles.

“With the strawberries,” Chanyeol says.

“With the strawberries,” Kai says.

“Did you get anything for yourself?” Chanyeol asks.

Kai smiles, a secret little thing that tells Chanyeol, _yes, of course._

“Yes,” Kai says. “Of course.”

“Come on, then,” Chanyeol says, brushing past him and walking to the kitchen. “Show me what you got.”

Kai traipses behind him, the same light of excitement that always runs through him whenever he gets to show Chanyeol something he found. It’s cute, the way he grins and holds things up to display for Chanyeol, like a gameshow girl next to a paper prize. Chanyeol bites his lip as he tries not to smile too much, not to give _too_ much away.

“What do you feel like eating?” Kai asks. “Since you had a rough day.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Well, consider this me indulging you,” Kai smiles, and his lips are full, red.

“Whatever you want,” Chanyeol says.

Kai rolls his eyes, starts prepping food. He works efficiently, confidently, _masterfully_ , even. Chanyeol watches in awe. He realizes, of course, that he watches Kai in awe almost whenever he gets the opportunity.

“M,” Kai says. “Put on playlist four.”

“Playlist four,” M says. “Starting now.”

And gentle synth chords begin to filter in softly, Kai swaying his hips gently as he works. Chanyeol feels...feels dazed, feels hypnotized. He imagines holding Kai’s hips in his hands, rocking back and forth with him, their bodies pressed together.

Chanyeol’s heard Kai’s voice enough now to imagine what he would sound like. He’s seen Kai react enough now to imagine what he would look like. What his face would do. What his b--

Suddenly, Kai turns, looking back at Chanyeol over his shoulder.

“Oh, um, I have a favor to ask,” Kai says.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Whatever you need.”

Kai looks down at his feet, but he smiles. It makes Chanyeol smile too. He has that effect on people.

“I wanna change my name,” Kai says. “Will you help me?”

“O-of course,” Chanyeol says. “Yes."

Kai breathes out, unsteady, like it was a lot to ask. Was he working up the courage, Chanyeol wonders. _And for how long? What goes on inside Kai’s head? How much is there that I don’t see?_

“After dinner?” he says, turning back around, back to his vegetables.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, “whenever you want.”

 

⚠

 

Kai’s room is messy in an artful, deliberate way, one that looks as though it was made to be filmed, as if he’s learned it from television and movies. Chanyeol looks around, sees the bear (which Kai has smartly called _Bear_ ) lying on the bed, his eye patched, fur clean and soft. Chanyeol smiles. He wonders if the bear smells like Kai, like cinnamon and sugar.

“Sho--”

“You’ve watched the video four times,” Kai says. “You’ve read the instructions. It’s not hard.”

Kai sits on his bed, lays down.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol asks.

“Mirae said it was easiest like this,” Kai says. “To be relaxed. Laying down.”

 _That’s not what Irene said_ , Chanyeol wants to say, but he doesn’t, just stands there, watching Kai relax into the sheets, hands flat on his stomach.

Kai has a life outside of him, and it’s good, he reminds himself. It’s good that Kai’s world doesn’t revolve around him. It’s good. It’s good that he has friends.

“Ready?” Kai asks.

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he scrambles over, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Do it well,” Kai says. “I don’t wanna have to do it again.”

He couples it with a smile, playful, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes.

Kai’s eyelids flutter shut. Chanyeol could lean down. He could kiss him. Taste him for the first time. He closes his eyes. Blinks them open again. _Focus_.

“What do you want me to call you?” Chanyeol asks, barely more than a whisper.

“Jongin,” Kai says.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

He presses and holds the button on Kai’s earpiece, Kai goes stiff like the life’s been sucked out of him. It’s alarming, and Chanyeol gasps. But then, the prompts begin.

 _Hello_ , the voice says, for a moment only through the tinny earpiece speaker, before it autoconnects to the M-hub and starts booming throughout his apartment. He reaches to his own ear, clicks down the volume as it continues it’s introduction. _If you wish to change the name of your Kai unit, please tap the earpiece button once more. If this selection was made in error, please wait, and the system will close automatically in approximately five seconds._

Chanyeol taps the button and waits.

 _Thank you for your confirmation,_ the system says. _Welcome to the name change process. Please state your name and your Kai’s serial number for verification purposes._

“Park Chanyeol,” he says. “K....45. 88. 01. 14.”

The system chimes.

 _Thank you for verifying that information, Chanyeol,_ the system says. _At the tone, please say the new chosen name._

The chime peals out again.

“Jongin,” Chanyeol says, as clearly as he can.

 _Please repeat the new chosen name,_ the system says.

“Jongin,” Chanyeol repeats.

 _Please say the new chosen name a final time,_ the system says.

“Jongin,” Chanyeol says, and for some reason, it feels like a goodbye. It’s silly, but Chanyeol feels nerves creep up in him like ice cooling through him.

A little bell noise.

 _You have successfully registered serial number K45880114 as JONGIN,_ the system says. _His records will be updated accordingly. Thank you, and have a nice day._

He wakes almost as immediately as he fell asleep.

He sits up, shocked spine stick-straight, exhales in one great push, and then he leans back against the bed once more.  

“Okay,” he says, smiling. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“No,” Chanyeol says.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Try it now.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

A hand is reached out to him, and Chanyeol takes it when it’s offered. He strokes a thumb over the soft, soft skin.

“Jongin,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin’s smile is brighter than Kai’s ever was, and Chanyeol never knew someone could get more beautiful just in the matter of nanoseconds.

“Hi,” Jongin says, warmth pouring from him in honey amber waves.

And that’s when Chanyeol falls in love.

Or at least, that’s when he admits it to himself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda short this week, sry about that
> 
> i feel Not Great abt this story lately, idk if i'm just Overthinking or what, but im hoping that maybe im just in a funk! im gonna see the story through to the end no matter what, but just....some weeks are a slog
> 
> enough whining from me. u know the drill. chapter nine will be up around 8:30 est next tuesday. you can follow my writing journey on twitter @wolfsupremacist. if you leave me a comment, i can almost guarantee that i will include ur username in my evening prayers as a person who has single-handedly changed my life. i very much hope u are still enjoying the story, and if not, you can slap me exactly once in real life and thats a goddamn promise ♡
> 
> see you next week, you beautiful elegant dragons ♡ breath fire upon ur enemies ♡


	9. nine

It should have been obvious, but life with Jongin is not much different than life with Kai. Jongin cooks the same mouth-watering meals, plays the same games with the same ruthless efficiency and devious competitive spirit, goes to the same places, talks about the same people, and laughs the same way.

The only difference that Chanyeol’s unmodded eyes can see, of course, is how settled Jongin looks in his skin.

Jongin walks the way Chanyeol’s seen dancers walk, graceful and proud, comfortable and confident in every step.

Chanyeol watches, smiling, as Jongin lays himself on the couch, head in Chanyeol’s lap without an invitation or warning. Chanyeol doesn’t mind, but that’s obvious. He probably wears his affection plainly, though he can’t say for certain.

“Hi,” Jongin says as greeting, grinning up at Chanyeol, at what Chanyeol is sure is an unflattering angle.

“Hi there,” Chanyeol says all the same.

“Will you play with my hair?” Jongin asks.

“Uh, sure,” Chanyeol says. “Right...right now?”

“That would be the preferred time, yes,” Jongin smiles.

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, and he...he puts a hand in Jongin’s hair, stroking his fingers through the strands. It’s soft, and it must be because of that special wash that Jongin uses, the stuff that smells like citrus.

“Mm,” Jongin sighs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chanyeol says, even though it’s no trouble, even though it’s a gift airdropped to him.

It’s quiet as Jongin lays there and Chanyeol cards his hand through Jongin’s hair, scratching at his scalp, listening for the exhalation, pushes of breath that it seems like Jongin doesn’t have total control of. Chanyeol watches him as his eyes flutter closed and he rests, and Chanyeol wonders how he got here, wonders how in such a short period of time, he has someone he loves right here, right in the palm of his hand.

“You’re good at that,” Jongin whispers.

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, dragging the hair off Jongin’s forehead with a hand and pushing it back. He’s so pretty that it’s almost ridiculous, and Chanyeol wants to lean down to press a kiss to his crown.

“Are you hungry? Should I go make dinner?” Jongin asks, eyes still closed, perfect eyelashes splayed on his perfect cheeks.

Chanyeol is hungry, and it was a long day at work. He could use some home-cooking.

“We can order something,” Chanyeol finally says. “I don’t wanna move.”

Jongin flicks his eyes open, stares at Chanyeol with a curious smile. Chanyeol stares back, and it feels like there’s something there between them, something big that he can’t put his finger on. His heart pounds in his chest, and he tries to quiet it down, hoping Jongin can’t hear it.

“Okay,” Jongin says. “Order something.”

 

⚠

 

He slips into the water, the steam circling, swirling in the air. It’s lavender-scented, newly order and delivered during the day. Chanyeol had walked into his room and found his bed made, the package sitting at the foot of the bed. _Jongin,_ he thought. _Always more thoughtful than he needed to be._

Bathing feels like a treat now, something to be looked forward to rather than a compulsive coping mechanism. The lights are dimmed, Jongin made him a special playlist, shared between he and Chanyeol and Sehun. It’s...it’s good. It’s very good.

He closes his eyes, lays his head back against the wall. Chanyeol wiggles his toes in the water, and he considers maybe turning on the jets. His back aches, something about the way he sits all day making it cramp in uncomfortable ways. He should get one of those straighteners for his spine, but...

_Knock. Knock-knock. Knock._

“Jongin?” Chanyeol says.

“Hi,” Jongin says. “Dinner should be ready in about a half hour.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, trying to keep the tenseness out of his voice. “I’m just...just relaxing.”

“That’s good,” Jongin says. “Can I...can I come in?”

“W--what?” Chanyeol says.

A soft thump.

“It was kinda lonely today,” Jongin says. “I didn’t go out.”

“No?” Chanyeol asks. “Why not?”

“Just...just didn’t feel like it, I guess,” Jongin says. “So I waited for you to get home so we could talk. Can I come in?”

And Chanyeol has to pause to think. Jongin’s...ever since the beginning, Jongin’s been open with him. Not held much regard for the silly concepts of personal space or shyness about nakedness. But for some reason, Chanyeol feels as though a lot has changed, or at least, changed for him.

“Uh, yeah,” Chanyeol says. “You can come in.”

Jongin smiles as soon as he walks into the bathroom, and Chanyeol feels a blush rise in him when Jongin looks him over. He doubts it’s from the temperature of the water.

“Hi,” Jongin says, sitting down on the closed toilet lid.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says. “Um.”

“Smells nice,” Jongin says. “The new oil.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “You can--I mean, if you ever want a capsule, you don’t have to ask. You can just take one. Or however many you want.”

“Yeah?” Jongin says, and when Chanyeol nods, “okay. Thank you.”

He inhales deeply, artificial lungs filling to the apex in his chest, before he exhales, sighing as he does it.

“I feel better already,” he smiles.

“Good,” Chanyeol says, and he very carefully moves his hands, covers himself with them.

“Oh,” Jongin says. “I’m sorry, are you...are you uncomfortable? I can go if you want.”

He gets better at reading Chanyeol’s cues with each and every passing day, and honestly, it feels like Chanyeol is caught, cornered, has less and less room to hide.

“N-no,” Chanyeol says. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“You just?” Jongin prods.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “Force of habit, I guess.”

“Mm,” Jongin says, biting his lip, and _God_ , Chanyeol wish he wouldn’t do shit like that, especially when he’s just a meter or so away from Chanyeol, and there’s nothing between them but Jongin’s clothes and the water. Jongin looks at Chanyeol, at his body, tilting his head to the side. Appraising. Chanyeol feels the seconds tick by like hours before Jongin speaks. “You’re getting quite thin.”

“What?” Chanyeol says.

“I said you’re getting thin,” Jongin says.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, looking down at himself and actually thinking about the way it’s changed in the past several months. Thinking about the way Jongin must be looking at him, noticing. “Yeah, uh, I guess I’ve lost some weight.”

Jongin makes a noise, and then Chanyeol’s brain does something stupid: imagines them in bed together, Jongin’s body wrapped in a little layer of winter fat, Chanyeol wrapped around him.

“Do you...do androids gain weight?” Chanyeol asks.

“All excess energy is converted,” Jongin says. “Offsets costs.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says, his day-dream about a softer, plusher Jongin a distant memory.

“You...you like the way I look though, right?”

Chanyeol looks up, meets Jongin’s eyes, and sees something like anxiety, like sick self-consciousness there.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, confused. How could he doubt it? “Yeah, of course.”

“A lot of people tell me I’m handsome,” Jongin says, crossing and uncrossing his legs, a nervous habit. “But I guess I still don’t quite understand, I guess. There’s so much to like in the world. Isn’t the beauty in the change? In the differences? Like with you...I just...you look good either way, you know? Bigger or smaller. All ways.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Really?”

Depression had put weight on him everywhere, on his heart especially. He couldn’t look in the mirror, rarely looked in reflective surfaces for fear of catching a glimpse of himself. He’d gotten used to hating the way he looked, hating himself for letting it happen. But..but this is different. A weight settles in his stomach instead. Settles like heat, like honey.

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “When I first met you, I thought you were beautiful.”

 _Beautiful,_ Chanyeol thinks. _Beautiful?_ Maybe he meant something else.

“Beautiful?” Chanyeol asks.

“Beautiful,” Jongin confirms. “And you’re beautiful now. I can’t understand how not everyone sees that. Isn’t everything beautiful? If you take the time to love it?”

Would it have helped, Chanyeol wonders, to have Jongin back then? Would it have helped to have someone tell him that he is beautiful either way, equally worthy of affection and love? Surely, _surely_ it would have. Because even as he’s months deep in his recovery, in his re-dedication to saving himself, he feels like maybe Jongin is the one saving him. Maybe Jongin’s given him something that no one else could give him.

 

⚠

 

It isn’t snow, not so early in the year, but it is ash that falls, gritty and grey, laid thick on the streets like slush and it reminds him: Jongin will need to stay warm. He brushes the stray ashes off his jacket, off the top of his hat, before he walks through the automatic doors, sliding open in greeting.

There’s a bell that tolls, happy, and Chanyeol immediately ducks his head, takes his hat off as a hologram pops up.

“Welcome,” the girl says. “If I can help you find anything or you need something in a size you can’t find on the monitor, just say _Bella_ , and I’d be more than happy to assist you.”

“Bella,” Chanyeol says, and the hologram smiles at him in response. “I need to find a coat.”

“Of course,” she says, bright with blue light. “Our outerwear selections are to the left.”

She points over to the terminal, and he nods at her, walking over.

“If you need any help navigating, just say _Bella,_ and I’d be more than happy to assist you.”

“Got it, thank you,” Chanyeol smiles, even though he knows she won’t answer.

The terminal is built into the wall, a large slick screen with minimalist text. _outerwear_ , it reads, and the options below are numerous. _masculine, feminine, androgynous._

He bites his lip. Taps _androgynous_ after a bit of deliberation.

A brand new batch of options appear for him to read: _jackets, coats, blazers, pants, vests._

 _Pants,_ Chanyeol smiles. It’s funny, he hasn’t thought about snow sports in a very long time. Jongin would look so cute in snow pants, plush like a little pork bun.

He refocuses, presses _coats_ and flips through the options. A lot are plain, utilitarian in design, but some are more colorful, more dynamic. He tries to think back to what Jongin normally wears: sweaters of old-fashioned knits and designs, normally tailored, all quite vintage, all quite uniquely him.

He scrolls and scrolls through the options, frowning as he refuses to settle for anything less than perfect. It takes longer than he thought it would, other customers occupying terminals to the left and right of him, flashing their wrists quickly, getting their items dispensed below, packed up in plastic. He huffs, and then he finds it. It’s dark blue, zippers at the chest, and there’s a built in hood, fluffy white fur lining the inside. Chanyeol smiles when he sees it, and to him, that’s enough.

Chanyeol flicks through the other pictures, and he sees the print on the inside of the coat: a honeycomb design that shines silver and white gold. He choose the size, immediately hits _purchase,_ and when he’s prompted, he scans his wrist, and Bella appears next to him, a blue glow alerting him.  

“Thank you for your purchase,” she says. “Can I be of any more assistance today?”

“No, thank you,” Chanyeol says.

“Have an excellent day,” she smiles. “And thank you for shopping with us.”

 

⚠

 

“I got you something,” Chanyeol says over dinner.

Jongin’s reaction to it is worth the price alone.

“Really?” Jongin says.  “Ah, I _knew_ you were lying.”

“I wasn’t _lying_ ,” Chanyeol says. “There was a delay.”

“But you stopped,” Jongin says. “And you got me something.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I stopped and got you something.”

“Well,” Jongin says, pushing back from the table, “let’s see it.”

Chanyeol yells out a laugh.

“What, now?” Chanyeol says.

“Yes,” Jongin says. “Now. Come on.”

“You can’t wait?” Chanyeol laughs.

“No,” Jongin says, “I can’t wait.”

“You’re sure?” Chanyeol smirks.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says.

“Okay, okay,” Chanyeol says, going to his room and grabbing the bag quickly.

He walks back out, shoves the bag into Jongin’s hands.

“Here,” Chanyeol says.

“Oh,” Jongin says, “this is a big bag.”

“Well, you need it. The winters are brutal. We get really bad snows sometimes,” Chanyeol says. “And if you want to go out, you’re going to need to keep warm.”

“Oh,” Jongin says, pulling the coat from the bag. “Oh, Chanyeol.”

“Do you like it?” Chanyeol asks, fidgeting. “If you don’t, we can go get another. They have a pretty flexible return policy, I’m pretty sure, and if you’d prefer looking for something yoursel--”

“Oh,” Jongin says, holding it up to his body. “It’s…”

Chanyeol waits with bated breath, doesn’t interrupt.

“It’s perfect,” Jongin smiles.

“Yeah?” Chanyeol says, barely breathing out.

“It’s perfect,” Jongin repeats before he crushes Chanyeol into a hug that doesn’t end for a while.

 

⚠

 

Wherever they go now, they always walk hand in hand. Chanyeol tries not to read too much into it, not with the way Jongin is open, free with his affections. He often sees Jongin hugging his friends, patting them on the shoulder, kissing them on the cheek. So he doesn’t think about it, or he tries not to.

“Do you need anything?” Jongin asks as they walk.

“Just going to look,” Chanyeol says.

“Good,” Jongin says. “I always need the company.”

It’s dumb, because even though there’s nothing to read into, nothing sitting under the surface, Chanyeol’s brain tries to read into it anyway, tries to dig up the secret meaning.

“No problem,” he says, and they walk underground, down the stairs, into the market.

Their first stop is always Minseo, who sizes them up, tells them stories, gives them hard candies that Chanyeol can only remember from when he was a really little kid. It’s the same that day, and they walk over as a pair, her eyes widening a touch as she looks between them, gaze trained on their clasped hands.

“Morning,” she says.

“Morning,” Jongin says. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answers. “And you both?”

Jongin looks at Chanyeol, eyes smiling.

“Well,” Jongin says, still staring at Chanyeol.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, staring right back. “Well.”

“We’re just here for a few things,” Jongin says, “and to get some food, maybe. So I just wanted to stop and say hello before we go.”

“That’s very good of you,” Minseo says. “Checking in with an old lady like me.”

Jongin rolls his eyes, and she smiles. He lets go of Chanyeol’s hand, and he leans down to hug her, and Chanyeol watches her eyes go soft as she wraps him up tight.

“Ah,” she says, patting him, making him stand back up straight, “go ahead. Get going, otherwise I’ll keep you forever.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” Jongin smiles.

“Ah,” she smiles wryly. “You’re too young to spend your days with a fool like me.”

Jongin frowns, but she laughs, patting him on the hand.

“Go, go,” she ushers him off. “Chanyeol will catch up with you.”

“What?” Jongin says. "Why?"

Chanyeol furrows his brow.

“I have to speak to him,” she says. “I’ll send him along shortly.”

“Wh--is everything alright?” Chanyeol asks, looking between her and Jongin.

“It’s quite alright,” she says to him before turning back to Jongin, shooing him again. “Go, go, I promise it won’t be long.”

Jongin looks at Chanyeol, looks at Minseo.

“What, are you both attached at the hip?” she asks.

“I get it,” Jongin says. “I get it, I get it.”

“Off you go,” she says, waving him away.

“I know when I’m not wanted,” Jongin laughs. “I’ll be…I’ll be by the antiques place, I guess.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Meet you there.”

Jongin has stars in his eyes even under the horrible artificial yellow light, still as handsome as a person could ever be, and Chanyeol joins Minseo in watching as his form retreats.

“So,” Chanyeol says, turning to her, kneeling down.

“So,” she says. “Is there anything I should know?”

“How do you mean?” Chanyeol asks.

“Don’t play dumb with me, child,” she smiles. “I may be old, but I’m not blind.”

“Should be, what, a couple days?” he jokes, but she slaps him on the back of the head gently. “Ow!”

“I liked you better when you were shy,” she says. “Tell me. Have you confessed to him?”

It brings him back to his childhood when he was caught in the act, his parents staring down at his hands in the jar of treats where they didn’t belong. It’s the same feeling, the same guilt.

“Confessed to…” Chanyeol says, startled. “To Jongin?”

Minseo huffs, looks exasperated, as if she doesn’t have the time or patience to deal with him. Sometimes, especially now, he doesn’t blame her.

“No, to me,” she says sarcastically. “Yes, of _course_ to Jongin.”

“Confessed what,” Chanyeol says, trying his level best to keep his face neutral.

“What did I say about playing dumb?” she says.

He steels himself. What does he have to lose anyway? It’s Minseo.

“I--I haven’t confessed,” Chanyeol admits.

“Oh,” she says, looking confused. “But…”

“But...but what?”

She inhales, exhales.

“Sometimes I think I know him better than you,” she laughs. “You hold hands like that a lot?”

“I--I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “I guess, sometimes.”

“Not until recently, though,” Minseo notes.

“No, I suppose not,” Chanyeol says. They've done it before, but only in the apartment, away from people. Now it's...now it's everywhere. 

“Hm,” she hums happily.

Chanyeol stays quiet. Wants to say so many things. _What do you know that I don’t? Why is it strange? Does he do this with everyone, or just with me? Do you think it means something the way I think it might mean something?_

But he stays quiet.

“Be good to him,” she says.

“I’ll try,” Chanyeol says.

“And don’t wait too long,” Minseo says.

“To…”

“To tell him,” she smiles.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol thinks about it the rest of the day, watching Jongin’s back carefully as he puts things in his bag, smiling back at Chanyeol, always reaching for his hand when they walk from shop to shop.

 _Tell him_ , her voice rings. Could he ever do something like that? Tell Jongin how he felt?

No, he thinks. No, that would be silly. They’ve finally settled into something familiar, something calm and cool. To disrupt it would be bad for him, bad for both of them. Who knows how it would end?

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Jongin says at lunch, reaching across the table to take Chanyeol’s hand in his. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I’m good. Really good.”

And with Jongin holding his hand, he means it.

 

⚠

 

They see the boy selling music again, and he’s changed his hair from a white blond to an electric blue. It suits him, Chanyeol thinks, as the boy smiles, waves him over.

“Hey,” he says. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “A lot.”

“Chizz,” the boy says. “I got something new, if you wanna hear it.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Chanyeol says, offering his wrist.

“Nah,” the boy says wryly. “Free of charge. It’s not polished yet, I’d feel bad making money off it.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Yeah, chizz.”

He feels Jongin’s eyes on him, the slang sitting uncomfortable on his tongue. Jongin slips his hand into one of Chanyeol’s, and he huddles into Chanyeol’s space.

“Here,” the boy says, sliding the mini-micro into Chanyeol’s hands. “Your friend want one too?”

“Ah, he’s good,” Chanyeol says, putting the micro in his pocket, squeezing Jongin’s hand in his. “We live together, I can share.”

“Right, right,” the boy says, smiling. “Well, let me know what you think. I’m here all the time. Sometimes I move though, sometimes I go to the west side near the techie shit. If you can’t find me, ask around. All the hangers know me. Oh, and I’m Baekhyun.”

He sticks out his hand proudly.

“I’m Chanyeol,” Chanyeol says, taking the handshake with his free hand awkwardly. “Thanks.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Baekhyun says.

They walk off, leaving Baekhyun behind them, and Jongin looks at him.

“What?” Chanyeol says.

“Nothing,” Jongin smiles like a secret.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“It’s just…you made a friend,” Jongin says.

“Oh, shut up,” Chanyeol says. “I just like his music.”

“He likes you,” Jongin says.

“Well, I did give him money,” Chanyeol says.

“No, he _likes_ you likes you,” Jongin says, and it’s silly, the way Jongin can nail down intentions with words like that, can figure out reduplication like a math problem.

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says.

“He does,” Jongin says.

Jongin bumps into Chanyeol, Chanyeol bumps back into Jongin, and they don’t talk about it anymore, Chanyeol running his finger over the micro in his pocket, smiling.

 

⚠

 

When he realizes they’ve spent the better part of the evening looking through every store, talking to people, Chanyeol suggests dinner.

“Since we’re out,” he says.

“Okay,” Jongin says, squeezing Chanyeol’s hand.

They get chicken, and Jongin devours his share in the ugliest way possible, but it still manages to be cute, and Chanyeol thinks that has more to do with Jongin himself and less to do with how he was crafted.

After dinner, he places a little box in Chanyeol’s hands, looking expectant.

“Well,” Jongin says, puppy-like, “are you going to open it or not?”

“Give me a second,” Chanyeol grouses.

“Hurry,” Jongin says excitedly. “Hurry, hurry.”

When he opens it, he realizes immediately what it is: a bracelet of nanos, transmitters, cogs and wheels, all soldered together, a magnetic clasp at the end.

“And look,” Jongin says, shoving up his shirt sleeve and showing Chanyeol his wrist. “I got one too. So we can match.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, trying to fight back tears. “Wow.”

“Do you like it?” Jongin says, and when Chanyeol looks up, Jongin is close, leaning across the table, so close that Chanyeol can see the individual hairs on Jongin’s neck, on his face. How did they do it, he wonders, make something so real from skel-metal and wires, all these parts that he can wear around his wrist?

“I love it,” Chanyeol says. “You’re so...you’re so good at stuff like this.”

“You’re too nice,” Jongin says, smiling.

“No,” Chanyeol says. “You are.”

There is a moment, a dense, thick moment that tastes like possibility, like games of love and games of chance. Spinning wheels, throwing dice, flipping coins. Asking questions he shouldn’t ask. Saying things he shouldn’t say.

“We have this disagreement too much,” Jongin says quietly, and he’s right, they do this too much, but Chanyeol won’t ever cede this fight, won’t ever wave a white flag, won’t ever let Jongin think he’s anything less than perfect.

“We do,” Chanyeol agrees. “Because you insist on arguing.”

“ _Me_?” Jongin screeches, and the moment is long gone, but it retires to the back of Chanyeol’s head with the rest of their moments.

 

⚠

 

When they get back to the apartment, door opening with a whir, Jongin pulls on Chanyeol’s hand to keep himself steady.

“I didn’t mean to keep you out all day,” Jongin says.

“S’okay,” Chanyeol says. “I didn’t mind.”

 _Because being with you is never a chore,_ he thinks. _Being with you is the only way I want to spend my time._

“You’re too sweet,” Jongin smiles sleepily as they toe off their boots and walk back through the halls.

“No,” Chanyeol says. “You’re the sweet one.”

And Jongin squeezes Chanyeol’s hand in his. Fire and honey.

“We should sleep,” Jongin says.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “We should.”

They stop at Jongin’s room, and it takes a moment for them both to let go of the other.

“Night,” Jongin says quietly.

“Night,” Chanyeol says, and he walks down the hall, stepping softly, trying not to make any noise at all.

He has his hand on the doorknob, about to turn it, about to head inside, crash into bed.

“Hey, Chanyeol,” Jongin says, so Chanyeol turns back, sees Jongin holding onto his door frame, half-hiding behind it.

“Yeah?” Chanyeol answers, gentle as he can manage.

Jongin doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, Chanyeol thinks that he might have read things right earlier. He looks into Chanyeol, looks right the fuck through him, and Chanyeol feels like he could read him down to the DNA, to his sequences.

“Thank you,” Jongin whispers. “For today.”

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, wanting to tack on _for everyday_ onto the end.

“Good night,” Jongin smiles.

“Good night,” Chanyeol says, and he watches as Jongin scrunches up his nose before closing the door behind him, retiring for the night.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol has gotten better at this.

“Anything you’d like to focus on today?” Dr. Kang asks as they settle into their chairs.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Chanyeol says. “There is something.”

Dr. Kang shifts forward, a subtle but noticeable shift.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she says.

“I think...well, I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, and he scolds himself. _Be forward. Be direct. You don’t have to second-guess yourself all the time._ “So, Jongin changed his name. I don't think I mentioned last time.”

“Jongin,” she says to herself, and then the awareness dawns. “Ah, Jongin. Well, that’s very nice. That’s a big step for a lot of androids. The freedom and the personalization. I would think it makes them feel…”

“Feel more alive,” Chanyeol says. “More in control.”

“Yes,” she says. “Good point. We’re all created, in some way or another, and finding small ways to feel in control of your own existence is empowering.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I agree.”

She smiles, and he thinks _coming here, that’s been empowering. I feel more in control._ But today isn’t about him. It’s about _them_. The possibility of a _them._

“Jongin’s been well, then?” she asks.

“Yeah, uh,” Chanyeol says. “Very well.”

“That’s excellent to hear,” Dr. Kang says. “Has he seemed happier since the change?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “It’s, uh, that’s actually what I wanted to talk about.”

“Okay,” she says.

“I feel like things are developing,” he says.

“Would you elaborate?” Dr. Kang asks. “In what way are they developing, as you put it?”

“Well,” Chanyeol says, hands folded. He refrains from twisting his fingers nervously. “I feel like my...the way I feel towards Jongin has changed.”

“Can you put that change into words?” she asks.

“I’m feeling...romantic things,” Chanyeol says, staring at his lap.

“Chanyeol,” she says, and he looks up at her. Her eyes are warm, warm like Jongin’s. “This is a big step for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “I think it is.”

“When you came to me for the first time,” she says, hands folded over her crossed legs, “you had a great deal of trouble expressing yourself. It was hard for you to talk about your feelings.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I think I...I think I had trouble getting attached, you know, for fear of getting _too_ attached.”

“Great observation,” she says. “And now…”

“And now I feel myself getting attached,” he admits.

“And how does it feel?” she asks.

“It feels...fuck, it feels great,” he sighs. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

She laughs, toothy white grin and red lips.

“Don’t apologize for that,” she says.

Chanyeol stares down at his hands again, but this time, he wears a smile.

“So,” she says. “Now that you know how you feel, what do you think you’re going to do about it? Do you think you'll act on those feelings in any way?”

“I--I don’t know,” he says.

“That’s okay,” Dr. Kang says. “You don’t always have to know. Sometimes you can just--”

“See how it goes,” Chanyeol finishes.

“See how it goes,” she repeats, smiling.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol keeps the thought in the back of his head, and he reads Jongin’s actions a bit differently. Every time Jongin gives him a second helping of food, he thinks about it. Every time Jongin rubs his shoulders when he winces after a long day, he thinks about it. Every time Jongin smiles at him, holds his hand, says his name…Chanyeol thinks about it.

He gets home, another long, long day, and his neck is tense as he leans over, about to start unlacing his shoes as he groans.

“What’s wrong?”

Chanyeol looks up, sees Jongin frowning with folded arms.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says, rubbing a hand against the nape of his neck. “I’m good.”

“Hmph,” Jongin says, still frowning.

“What?” Chanyeol laughs, standing up.

“You work too hard,” Jongin says.

“I work exactly as hard as I need to,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks between them, cogs in his head turning. Chanyeol watches, amused, before Jongin brushes past him and starts putting on his boots.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol laughs.

Jongin doesn’t respond, only grabs Chanyeol by the hand as he opens the door, pulling Chanyeol through it.

“Come on,” Jongin says, happily.

He starts dragging Chanyeol to the staircase, a smile on his face.

“Where are we going?” Chanyeol laughs.

“To the roof.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah :') writing chapters 9 and 10 made me very happy, so i hope they make you feel happy too. 
> 
> i'll be posting chapter 10 on thursday, 8pm est, as a sort of thank you for the support and kindness you've shown me over the course of this story so far! i debated double-updating, but altogether, the two chapters will be about 8 thousand words, so i figured it might be a bit overwhelming lkdasjlkg. anyway, Look Forward To Thursday, i suppose!! 
> 
> as always, thank you for being so great and for reading and for always leaving your thoughts and sharing the story with friends. it makes my day! 
> 
> i'm on twitter @wolfsupremacist. let's be friends! 
> 
> alright now, see you soon! love u muchly ♡


	10. ten

“Haven’t you ever been up here before?” Jongin asks.

“No,” Chanyeol says, pointing to the sign. “It says right there it’s for authorized personnel only. Plus, I mean, I don’t know the key.”

Jongin rolls his eyes.

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

“You’re just very sweet is all,” Jongin says.

Jongin reaches to the lock pad, and Chanyeol thinks for a moment that he’s going to enter in an eight digit passcode. Instead, he just taps the asterisk eight times in a row, and the door clicks open.

“What the fuck?” Chanyeol asks.

“I dunno,” Jongin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Usually works on these low-level pads. It’s like an override in case someone forgets.”

Jongin is bottled lightning, rattling around in a cage of metal, and Chanyeol likes him so much that sometimes, he thinks it’s going to surge through him, in through one foot, out through the other, the dendritic, fractal scars up and down his body the only reminder that Jongin was ever there.

“How’d you figure that out?” Chanyeol asks.

“A friend,” Jongin smiles mischievously.

“Bad company,” Chanyeol tuts, and it makes Jongin laugh loudly.

The roof of the apartment building is so high up that Chanyeol can almost put his hand through the dense layer of smog that sits above them. There are no stars, at least none that Chanyeol can see, but the night is navy blue and glowing. Dark, dark, dark.

“We could watch the sun come up,” Jongin suggests.

“Okay,” Chanyeol smiles.

They sit down near the edge, and they stare up at the sky together. Chanyeol wonders how much other stuff there is out there. Wonders who or what stares back at them.

“Do you ever think about what’s gonna come after you?” Jongin asks. "After us, I mean?" 

“ _After_ us?” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks to the sky, chin tilted up. His skin is glowing. He leans back, both hands on the dirty concrete of the rooftop. In a different world, Chanyeol thinks, in a different life...they would be, _could be_  something like soulmates.

“You know, when we’re gone,” Jongin says.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, staring up at the thick clouds. “I hope it’s something better.”

“Better than people?” Jongin asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Better than people.”

Jongin closes his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jongin says. “I like people.”

“That’s because…” Chanyeol starts, but he stops himself.

“Because what?” Jongin asks.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says.

“No, tell me,” Jongin says, bumping his fist into Chanyeol’s shoulder. “You always start and never finish.”

 _Because if I finish,_ Chanyeol thinks, _I’ll say something that will change the way you look at me. And that’s the last thing I want to do. I love the way you look at me. You look at me like I’m sane. You look at me like you don’t know how bad I can be._

He stays quiet, bites his tongue.

“Come on,” Jongin says.

“It’s nothing,” Chanyeol says.

“If you don’t,” Jongin threatens, “I’ll do aegyo.”

“You hate aegyo,” Chanyeol says.

“You hate it more,” Jongin says. And he raises his fists to his cheeks. “Bbu--”

“Okay, okay, _stop_ ,” Chanyeol says. “God.”

Jongin smirks, self-satisfied. Chanyeol loves him, he thinks. Loves him truly.

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” Chanyeol says. “Because I mean it in a nice way. A good way.”

“Okay,” Jongin says, smiling, “I’m prepared to receive a backhanded compliment.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll be serious,” Jongin says. “Go ahead.”

“You like people because you...because you’re not exactly like us,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks down.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Chanyeol hurries to add. “You have to stop thinking about it like that. It’s not...you’re special, you know? You’re really special. You can see goodness in people where other people can't. Or wouldn’t.”

“Stop,” Jongin says, biting his lip.

“I’m serious,” Chanyeol says. “That’s something so human, it’s inhuman. It’s so good. It’s so perfect. I wish I could be like that.”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says.

“You’re so good,” Chanyeol says. “And I’m so happy I met you. Sometimes I think...I don't know, sometimes I think you're the best thing about my life.”

“Ah,” Jongin says.

He reaches up to his eyes.

“Why’d they put this feature in,” he wonders aloud, a tear dripping down his cheek.

“There’s nothing wrong with being different, you know,” Chanyeol says. “If anything, it makes you better.”

“You think?” Jongin says.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

Jongin turns at that, and Chanyeol feels magnetized to him, like attracts like. He turns his head too.

He’s beautiful, he’s always been _beautiful,_ but when Chanyeol looks in Jongin’s eyes, Chanyeol realizes that Jongin is radiant like golden scarlet sunsets, resplendent like the only burning trembling star Chanyeol can still make out in the deep, hectic sky.

“I think you,” Jongin says, soft like a secret, “are the best person I’ve ever met. And I’m glad you were the first.”  

The words go down like honey. Amber and sweet. They settle in his stomach like fire.

Jongin leans forward, closes the gap between them. Slow, slower. Chanyeol watches his eyelids flutter shut.

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks. _Holy shit. Is this real? Could I be dreaming?_

“W-what are you doing?” Chanyeol asks, heart in his throat.

Jongin opens his eyes, snaps back and reestablishes the distance between them.

“I was going to kiss you,” Jongin says. “It seemed like the perfect moment.”

He looks around, as if to demonstrate this. Chanyeol looks around too. It is sort of perfect: the navy of the night surrounding them, the orange light of the star. It’s beautiful. He can hear the hum of the factory in the distance, but it sounds like a song on a night so pretty.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “That’s what I thought you were going to do.”

“Should I not?” Jongin asks, head cocked to the side in confusion.

“I mean, it’s up to you, I guess,” Chanyeol says, twisting his hands in his lap.

Jongin leans back even further. Widens the distance between them. Smiles.

“I’m not going to do it if you don’t want me to,” Jongin says.

“Do _you_ want to?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin laughs, hollering, like the hologram display that drew Chanyeol to him in the first place.

“I wouldn’t have tried if I didn’t want to,” Jongin says softly. “I thought you might want to too.”

Sticky hot heat floods him head to toe, honey rushing through his arteries and his veins. Filling up his lungs. His heart. He can’t breathe for fear of it bubbling up and out of his mouth, viscous, sweet.

“I do,” Chanyeol barely gets out.

“You do?” Jongin asks.

Jongin takes Chanyeol’s hands in his, and their fingers knit and purl together like Chanyeol was always meant to hold Jongin by the hand. Locked like the hooks of velcro.

“I do,” Chanyeol says more deliberately.

“Okay,” Jongin smiles. “Should I try again?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol says.

“Alright,” Jongin says. “Bear in mind…”

He leans in again, so much slower than Chanyeol remembers it the first time around. It’s a slick slide, his body beautiful, flawless. He keeps his eyes open, heat in his gaze.

“I’ve never done this before,” Jongin says quietly.

And then, he shuts his eyes.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and he shuts his eyes too.

When Jongin finally kisses Chanyeol, it is little more than a chaste press of their lips, so pure that it reminds Chanyeol of his very first kiss. But Jongin is warm, breaking their hands apart to pull Chanyeol’s body close, an arm wrapped around Chanyeol's waist.

Chanyeol stops thinking.

He takes Jongin’s face in his hands, kisses him softly, their lips gentle over one another’s. Chanyeol can barely contain himself, desperately wants to lick his way into Jongin’s mouth, wants to swallow his sounds of pleasure, wants to bury himself in the feeling, in the raw emotion of it.

Jongin breaks the kiss, pulls back just a touch.

“How was that?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol doesn’t know how to talk, not really. Certainly not to Jongin. Who just kissed him. It’s not a dream, or if it is, it is so vivid that it might as well be real. He pinches himself a little on the thigh, relieved to find himself awake.

“Was it okay?” Jongin asks, head leaning to the side, smiling.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin pauses, considers his words for a moment.

“You know that really old saying?” Jongin asks.

“Which one?” Chanyeol says.

“Practice makes perfect?” Jongin says shyly.

He really likes Jongin. Can’t even believe how much he likes him. Almost too much.

He pulls Jongin into another kiss. Just a little bit deeper. Like holding someone by the hand as you walk into the ocean, wading in. Carried by waves.

“Mm,” Jongin says. “I get why people do this now.”

Chanyeol laughs.

“You didn’t get it before?” Chanyeol asks.

“It looks kind of silly when you watch people do it in movies,” Jongin says.

He brushes two fingers along Chanyeol’s cheek, gentle. Chanyeol shuts his eyes.

“If it’s with you, I don’t think I’d mind looking silly,” Chanyeol says, and it’s easy to admit when all he can see is the darkness of the inside of his eyelids.

“No?” Jongin asks.

“No,” Chanyeol says, sighing out.

Chanyeol doesn’t open his eyes. Feels as Jongin takes more and more, grows more and more comfortable. Pressing into Chanyeol. Moving against him. Deeper. Harder.

Chanyeol is the one who pushes it further. He opens his mouth against Jongin’s. Licks along his lips.

“Ah,” Jongin says, pulling back.

Chanyeol opens his eyes, sees Jongin brushing his mouth with his fingers.

“Sorry, should I--”

“No,” Jongin says, lowering his hand, dragging Chanyeol back to him. “Do it again.”

Jongin kisses him again, and Chanyeol obliges him, lets his tongue glide over Jongin’s soft lips until Jongin opens his mouth, snakes his tongue out to meet Chanyeol’s.

Chanyeol can’t help but moan into it, hot with the way that Jongin swallows the sound.

He isn’t used to leading Jongin in anything, but he finds he likes the way he gets to gently guide him, tangling his tongue with Jongin’s, hands skimming over Jongin’s body.

 

⚠

 

“Mm,” Jongin hums quietly, pressing a chaste little kiss to Chanyeol’s lips before squirming happily in Chanyeol’s arms and humming a little more insistently. “Mm.”

“Good?” Chanyeol laughs.

Jongin reaches up, touches his own lips, and smiles.

“I didn’t realize...I didn’t think it was going to be so good,” Jongin says. “But now, i--it’s all I want to do.”

Chanyeol can’t keep the joy tucked away in his shirt pocket, and it bursts out of its own accord, a genuinely uncontrollable smile on his face.

“I’m glad,” Chanyeol says. “It’s a good way to pass the time.”

Jongin grins before it slips into something more mischievous, something playful. Chanyeol knows it all too well.

“What?” Chanyeol says, leaning back.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jongin says. “Just...just how about we pass the time a little more?”

He eliminates the space between them, biting Chanyeol’s bottom lip between his teeth and dragging out a moan. The night still pulses with blue light, and Chanyeol can’t imagine being anywhere else, with any _one_ else.

 

⚠

 

“Come on,” Chanyeol says, tapping at his ear. “Make up your mind.”

“I can’t,” Jongin whines. “Just get me some of whatever you’re getting.”

“You don’t like the stuff I get,” Chanyeol laughs.

“That’s because you get garbage all the time,” Jongin says, turning up his nose.

“So if I offered to run down the street and get you triple fried chicken yakitori with the ginger lime cola sauce…” Chanyeol says.

“Shut up,” Jongin says, slapping him on the shoulder.

Chanyeol laughs, and Jongin lays his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder, staring off into the night. It’s...it’s perfect. And Chanyeol doesn’t want to fuck it up. He gently reaches up, taps his ear piece twice.

 _Welcome,_ the voice says. _For emergency services, say one. For search, say two. For delivery service, say three. For troubleshooting, say four._

“Two,” he says aloud.

 _Recite your order when ready,_ the voice says.

“Two, uh...two raspear nectars,” he says, and Jongin hums happily. “A box of kimchi-ppang. And a white chocolate cherry tart. Thank you.”

The earpiece pings in his ear before he hears himself repeat the order: _two, uh, two respear nectars. A box of kimchi-ppang. And a white chocolate cherry tart. Thank you._

 _Was that order correct?,_ the voice says.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says.

 _Your order has been confirmed,_ the voice says. _Current estimated wait-time for airdrops is approximately four minutes. Thank you for your patronage, and have a nice evening._

“Mm,” Jongin says. “Nectar.”

“You like that kind, right?” Chanyeol says.

Jongin sits up in his arms, kisses Chanyeol on the lips. What a world, what a life.

“It’s my favorite,” Jongin says.

 

⚠

 

Jongin dances where he sits, splitting the bun in half and letting the steam float up into the air.

“Mm,” he says happily. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Chanyeol says, taking a sip of his nectar, enjoying the way the bubbles zip right through him.

Chanyeol has a problem, he realizes, as he doesn’t want to tear his eyes away from Jongin just to eat, so he sits there as Jongin blows air over his bun, trying to get it to cool down faster. He puffs his cheeks out as he does it, cartoonishly cute, and Chanyeol has to keep watching, has to watch as Jongin sticks his tongue out to the filling to test its heat before drawing back sharply, looking appropriately upset.

It’s then that Jongin feels Chanyeol’s eyes on him, and he turns, brow furrowed.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says, but Jongin narrows his eyes.

“Tell me,” he says. “Or else.”

“Or else what?” Chanyeol laughs.

“Or else...I don’t know,” Jongin says. “I’m not very threatening.”

“No,” Chanyeol smiles, “you’re not.”

“Please?” Jongin says. “Tell me?”

There’s no need, of course, what with it being a fact of the universe, something unchanging and unchangeable, but Chanyeol steels himself anyway.

“You’re just very cute,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks confused for a couple seconds before the look fades into something else, something Chanyeol can’t put his finger on. And Jongin sets his bun down, dragging Chanyeol by the neck into another kiss.

 

⚠

 

Jongin lays back on the concrete of the building, legs dangling over the edge. It puts a tangled knot of anxiety in Chanyeol’s stomach, as he wants to drag him back, far away from harm, but in the end, Chanyeol joins him, laying back, legs hooked over the edge.

Chanyeol stares at the smog, thinking he should probably be wearing a mask this high up, outside for this long. He shuts his eyes, shuts down the thoughts. He’s here with Jongin, and nothing else matters.

Turning, he finds Jongin already looking back at him, looking every bit as handsome as a person can possibly look.

He smiles, Jongin already smiling back. Chanyeol looks at his lips. He wants to kiss him again already, but it’s only been a couple minutes. It’s probably getting to be too much. He should relax.  

“What are you thinking about?” Jongin asks.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, looking back up at the sky. “It’s silly.”

“Tell me,” Jongin says.

“Just thinking about...,” Chanyeol says, looking back to Jongin, and he watches the way Jongin licks his lips and suddenly finds it very easy to be honest. “Kissing you again.”  

“Then,” Jongin says, moving closer, their shoulders touching, “you should do it.”

Chanyeol reaches over, a hand cupping Jongin’s jaw before kissing him softly, sweetly.

“Mm,” Jongin says, pleased.

They resettle, staring at the sky, at the expanse above them, and Chanyeol feels content. In his blood, in his bones. He wonders if Jongin can feel that too.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jongin says.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Anything you want.”

“What was the best day of your life?” Jongin says.

“The best day?” Chanyeol says. “God.”

What springs to mind is unfortunate: _today,_ he thinks. _Right here, right now. With you_. But it’s too much too fast, he tells himself. He finds another answer quickly.

“When my parents were still alive,” Chanyeol says, “they surprised me one day. I really...I really liked the ruins back then. It was, I dunno, I guess it was my obsession.”

“Right,” Jongin says.

“I had little slideshows all about them,” Chanyeol says. “Glasses that flipped through the pictures, the guided V-tours. Talked about them whenever I could. Told everyone what they were uncovering as the news broke.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says.

“But I’d never been all the way out there,” Chanyeol says. “And one day, after study, they took me. To go see the ruins.”

“And that was good,” Jongin says.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “It was the best. It really didn’t...I don’t know, it sounds silly. Rubble and trash and ashes that still smoke, but...it meant a lot to me. They showed me they cared.”

“It doesn’t sound silly,” Jongin says, reaching out a hand to take Chanyeol’s in his. “None of it sounds silly.”

Chanyeol looks at Jongin, and for some reason, Chanyeol has to blink back tears, leaning across to knock his head against Jongin’s.

“What about you, huh?” Chanyeol sniffs. “Favorite day?”

Jongin has to think about it for a while, which is fine with Chanyeol: the longer Jongin thinks on the question, the more Chanyeol gets to stare at him, his brain dense with thoughts, prayers: _how did I get so lucky? I’m not ever going to screw this up, now that I’ve got it. Help me keep him._

“I think my favorite day,” Jongin finally speaks, eyes sparkling in the night, “is this one.”

And there’s nothing Chanyeol can do about it. He has to kiss him, has to pull Jongin as close as he can get and show Jongin how much he means to him. It can’t be helped. He’s in love.

 

⚠

 

They kiss until the red sun has risen in the sky, and Chanyeol’s jaw aches. They are breathless, and their mouths are pink and used. Chanyeol shivers when he looks at Jongin. His hair is mussed, and Chanyeol is to blame. Electricity. Sparks.  

“I like that,” Jongin says. “I want to do it more.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks down to their hands clasped together. Chanyeol rubs the back of Jongin’s hand with a thumb.

“Does this means we’re…,” Jongin says.

“We’re whatever you want,” Chanyeol says.

“Together,” Jongin says. “Okay?”

Chanyeol’s stomach aches at the thought.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, still barely believing that he’s not dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡JUST♡LOTS♡OF♡KISSING!♡
> 
> ok seriously tho lol thank u for reading, i sincerely hope u enjoyed!!! this one in particular was a lot of fun to write. who doesnt love a good fluff fest, am i right? 
> 
> you can follow me on twitter if that is your type of thing: @wolfsupremacist. you can yell at me any number of places, such as Twitter, Curious Cat, or here in the comments! 
> 
> speaking of comments, if u liked it, give me a little comment and i promise i will name a star after you. ok!!! more on tuesday. have a good weekend, babies!


	11. eleven

Chanyeol doesn’t know how to process it, not without caffeine in his system. He pokes at the system until the coffee pours into his mug, and he looks around. Jongin’s normally up by now, but they did stay up until the sun rose.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, but it’s everywhere: he and Jongin kissed. Kissed for hours. Kissed all night long, and now they’re _together_. Chanyeol doesn’t even know specifically what together means, but he doesn’t care what it means. It could mean anything, because to him, it means everything.

He grabs the mug, instantly cool enough to drink, and he takes it in his hands. Should they talk about it? Should _he_ bring it up? Jongin’s never...Jongin’s never done any of this before, and television can’t prepare you for real life. He should take the lead, but…

He takes a sip of his coffee, fidgets with the handle.

“Good morning. Or...well, I guess good afternoon.”  

Chanyeol turns and sees Jongin in the entryway to the kitchen, soft with the morning. He wears a sleepy smile. His hair is ruffled, tousled like he ran his hands through it before emerging from his bedroom. What goes through his head? Was he thinking about Chanyeol all night, _all morning_ , the way Chanyeol was thinking about him?

“Yeah, uh, same,” Chanyeol says. “Do you...do you want some tea?”

“Yes,” Jongin says, grinning. “Please.”

Chanyeol’s thankful for it, eager to do anything besides look at Jongin, the reddening of his lips and think about how he’s the one who kissed the bruise there.

He presses the appropriate buttons, puts a mug under to catch the jasmine tea that starts dispensing as soon as he jabs _start_. But then he’s stuck. They stand there in silence, overwhelming and stifling like heat emerging from the machine as the tea pours out. Chanyeol has to lead here. He knows that.

“So,” Chanyeol says, still staring at the machine, hoping to find the words as he goes, but unable to find anything at all.

“So,” Jongin says, and then Chanyeol feels arms fold around his waist, heavy. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

Chanyeol chokes on his saliva as he tries to swallow, hands on Jongin’s at his stomach.

“N-no,” Chanyeol says. “No, I haven’t.”

“Good,” Jongin says. “I haven’t either.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Well, that’s good.”

Jongin’s arms tighten around him. A hug.

“It is,” Jongin says.

“You don’t have to do this,” Chanyeol stammers. “If you don’t want to. I mean, if you did change your mind...that would be okay.”

His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach as he says it, and Jongin’s arms unwind from around him. It feels like being untethered. Lost in wind.

Then, Jongin’s hands clasp at his shoulders, and he is spun, around to face Jongin. He has a nanosecond to blink away the surprise before Jongin leans in, backs Chanyeol up against the counter, and takes him in a kiss.

“I know what I want,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut tight, until he sees stars.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“So,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol opens his eyes to see Jongin smiling at him. “You’re my boyfriend, right?”

Chanyeol bites his tongue over the shit he wants to say: _do you know what that means? Do you know how much I love you? Do you know that I’d do anything for you? Does that scare you? Because sometimes it scares me._

He doesn’t say any of it, just indulges in the newness, the novelty of being able to press his lips to Jongin’s.

“Yes,” he answers. “I am.”

 

⚠

 

Things change.

When he wakes up in the morning, Jongin crosses to him and gives him a cup of coffee and an armful of him, hot in his hands.

When he comes home in the evening, he gets a peck on the cheek and a smile. He’d settle for one, but getting both is certainly a bonus.  

When they separate for the night, Jongin holds him by the neck and kisses him softly, just a careful sweep of his tongue.

When the anime isn’t interesting or the movie isn’t as good as they thought it would be, Chanyeol sits on Jongin’s lap and they press their bodies together as they kiss and kiss and kiss, breathlessly smiling at one another once it gets too late.

It feels pure, feels like primary love, and Chanyeol can’t get enough of it.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, walking in and toeing off his shoes. “I’m home.”

Chanyeol hears something clatter to the floor in the kitchen with a sharp curse.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol yells.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet!”

“I wasn’t?” Chanyeol smiles, standing still. “They let us out early.”

“Those...those jerks,” Chanyeol hears Jongin say through the dividing wall, and it makes Chanyeol laugh.

“You didn’t want me home?” Chanyeol says, and he begins to creep forward towards the kitchen.

“No!” Jongin calls, and it stops Chanyeol in his tracks. “I mean, I didn’t mean no. Yes, of course I want you home, but don’t move.”

“Why not?” Chanyeol smiles.

“Because you’re home earlier than I thought,” Jongin says. “And I don’t want you to see yet.”

Chanyeol’s mind starts working overtime, his bag clutched in his hands. What doesn’t Jongin want Chanyeol to see? It must be some sort of surprise, he reasons. Jongin is too thoughtful, he has to stop that. He’s constantly showing Chanyeol up. Chanyeol has to get better. 

“How long should I wait out here?” Chanyeol says. “My legs are getting tired.”

“Aren’t you the fussy one?” Jongin sneers. “Go get a shower, it’ll be done by the time you get out.”

“I take quick showers,” Chanyeol says.

“I know,” Jongin says. “Go, go.”

So Chanyeol keeps his eyes down and heads into the shower with a grin on his face.

 

⚠

 

When he steps out of the bathroom, Jongin is there. Chanyeol is momentarily struck dumb by the sight of him, dewy skin and bright eyes and pretty, addictive lips.

“Hi,” Jongin says, staring straight into Chanyeol’s eyes. “How was your shower?”

“It was good,” Chanyeol says, ruffling his hair, still dripping.

“Good,” Jongin says. “Good, good.”

Chanyeol smiles, confused.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol asks.

“Very okay,” Jongin says, and the eye contact is nearly too much, Jongin’s eyes boring directly into Chanyeol’s.

“That’s good, then,” Chanyeol says, head tilted to the side. “I should go--”

“Right!” Jongin says, stepping to the side. “Clothes.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says, and he looks down at himself, stray water droplets still slipping over his skin, and when he looks back up at Jongin, Chanyeol finds him staring at Chanyeol’s chest.

_Oh._

“I’ll be right back,” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah,” Jongin says, eyes still glued to Chanyeol’s skin.

Chanyeol turns his back, standing up straight and tensing the muscles at his shoulders purposefully as he walks to his bedroom.

 

⚠

 

When they eat, Chanyeol knocks his foot into Jongin’s, and Jongin knocks his foot right back. Chanyeol smiles down at his foot, hooking his ankle around Jongin’s and tangling their legs together.

“Did you have a good day?” Jongin asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. He didn’t have a good day, but it’s hard to remember that now, all wrapped up with Jongin. “What about you? How was your day?”

“It was good,” Jongin smiles. “But I missed you.”

Chanyeol tries his best to hide how fucking _happy_ that makes him, but he thinks he totally fucks it up, because Jongin’s foot rubs against the inside of Chanyeol’s ankle as he smiles.

“Did you?” Chanyeol asks.

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “A lot.”

“How much?” Chanyeol needles.

Jongin rolls his eyes, and Chanyeol smiles for a split second before Jongin stands up, hands flat on the table and leaning across to lick along Chanyeol’s lips drawing him into a kiss. Chanyeol reacts immediately, as quickly as his body can, and he holds Jongin’s jaw in his hands, thumbs tracing the lines of him.

It is easy to get lost in this, lose track of time when Jongin is kissing him as if his life depends on it, but Chanyeol doesn’t mind. He doesn’t need food, doesn’t need water. Just needs Jongin.

When Jongin finally breaks them apart, they’re both breathless, chests moving with deep pushes and pulls.

“That much,” Jongin says, sitting back down.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, and he puts his hands on the table, just as Jongin did, standing before he leans over the table, just as Jongin did. He kisses Jongin chastely, purely, just to watch Jongin’s eyes sparkle. “Well, I missed you more.”

Jongin rolls his eyes again, and God, Chanyeol really loves him.

 

⚠

 

After the dishes are put away and all is quiet, Jongin suggests a rewatch of Fatality. Chanyeol agrees quickly. He knows what it means.

Jongin swipes through the air, taps on a random episode. Chanyeol sits beside him on the couch, and Jongin puts his arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders without hesitation as the opening music plays. Chanyeol cuddles into the space, into the warmth until Jongin makes a noise that makes Chanyeol look up.

“Hi,” Jongin says, looking down at him.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says, looking up.

Jongin stares at Chanyeol’s mouth, and Chanyeol feels inclined to give them both what they want.

Chanyeol pushes up, sits up a bit straighter in Jongin’s arms, and strokes his hand down Jongin’s cheek until Jongin closes his eyes. Then, Chanyeol pulls him in, kisses him soundly until the only thing he can hear is their breathing, the noise in the background totally forgotten.

 

⚠

 

It’s much later, and they’ve kissed through two and a half episodes, enough that Chanyeol had to pinch himself on the leg to stop from getting hard and scaring Jongin off. He’s ready to take it slow, but his body just hasn’t gotten the ping yet.

After their breathing has returned to normal, and Jongin lays his head on Chanyeol’s lap, he asks.

“What was all that?” Chanyeol says, fingers in Jongin’s hair. “Earlier, I mean. When I got home.”

“Oh!” Jongin says. “I totally forgot.”

He springs to life, jumping out of Chanyeol’s embrace and up off the couch before running to the kitchen.

“I saw something like this in a store window,” Jongin says, voice echoing as he busies himself in the ice-box. “I downloaded a book and read it and then...well, I guess this is what I came up with.”

Jongin walks out into the living area with a dark chocolate cake on a crisp white platter in his hands. The top is iced and decorated with sugar flowers, see-through, sculpted like glass and just as delicate.

“What do you think?” Jongin asks, setting the cake down on the table in front of Chanyeol before twisting his hands in front of himself. “It’s the first time I ever tried baking anything.”

Chanyeol gets closer, and he studies at the tiny works of art dotting the top of the cake, in awe of Jongin’s ability.

“It’s...it’s gorgeous,” Chanyeol says. “H-how are you so good at stuff?”

Jongin bites his lip, and Chanyeol stands up to hug him close.

“Stop,” Jongin says. “It’s not even good. You should see what other people can do. They make, like, buildings and stuff out of sugar, it’s so intricate and bea--”

Chanyeol shuts him up, kisses him hard until Jongin moans into his mouth, sending electric arousal sprinting through Chanyeol’s body.

“It’s amazing,” Chanyeol says. “What kind of chocolate is it?”

Ever since he was a kid, they’ve had to cut the cocoa to cut costs. Chanyeol sort of hopes it’s caramel, but he doesn’t mind the fruit kinds either.

“Pure,” Jongin says. “The lady who runs the produce place, she knows someone.”

“Holy shit,” Chanyeol says. “That’s...that’s expensive, isn’t it?”

“She’s my friend,” Jongin smiles. “She gave it to me special.”

 _You’re just as special,_ Chanyeol thinks. _And sweeter than any chocolate._ He kisses Jongin again, puts as much as he can into it.

“Ah,” Jongin sighs, touching his lips. “You like it?”

“I do,” Chanyeol says.

“Then let me get you some,” Jongin says, but Chanyeol holds him tight.

“In a minute,” Chanyeol says.

He takes another kiss. And then another.

 

⚠

 

The train isn’t as crowded as it normally is. Or maybe it is. Chanyeol can’t really tell anymore. He’s walking on clouds.

He goes to his appointment with Dr. Kang feeling better than he ever has before, optimistic in a way that he can’t ever remember being. He walks in the building, rockets up to her floor, and waits patiently until he’s called back.

When she walks in, Chanyeol smiles.

“Morning,” she says. “You look like you’re doing well.”

“I am,” Chanyeol says. “Really well.”

“ _Really well_ ,” she repeats, grinning. “That’s excellent to hear. Anything in particular you’re so happy about?”

Chanyeol swallows, bites his lip.

“Jongin and I,” he starts.

“Ah,” she says. “I take it things have progressed.”

“They have,” Chanyeol says. “We’re...together, I guess.”

“It seems as though it’s had a pretty dramatic impact on your mood,” Dr. Kang says. “Would you agree?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

She smiles, and it feels like he’s done something right. He settle back in the chair, tucking a leg underneath his body.

“Have you found it easy?” she asks. “To be intimate with him?”

Chanyeol knows what she means, intimate in sharing emotions, but the implication behind the word puts heat in his stomach.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t know why.”

“I’ve found,” she says, leaning forward, “that humans with anxiety often feel more comfortable with androids than they do with other humans.”

“Huh,” Chanyeol says. “I guess I hadn’t...I hadn’t really thought about it like that. I don’t really--I mean, I don’t really think of him as an android. I just think of him as...as Jongin.”

“That’s good,” she says. “In some ways.”

“And bad in others?” Chanyeol asks.

“I think it could lead to some issues,” she nods.

“L-like what?” Chanyeol asks.

“You've mentioned that Jongin struggles with his place within our world. And though it might come from a place of love, ignoring his differences might _highlight_ them to him," she says. 

"I guess I've never thought of it like that," Chanyeol says, frowning.

"Compounding this, he's still financially dependent on you,” Dr. Kang says. “And I can imagine that being frustrating for anyone, but especially for an android who is concerned with his humanity.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think that...I think that it really bothers him.”

“You do?” she says.

“He never says it, but...I think he tries to compensate. Doing things for me. Trying to--trying to prove his worth, I guess, even though, I mean, he knows how I feel about him. He's always looking for a job,” Chanyeol says. “He applies, but he never hears back.”

“Do you think it might be because of what kind of person he is?” she asks. 

Chanyeol thinks on it. He can’t see any other reason. Jongin is beautiful, talented, smart, capable and responsible and dependable. He just happens to be a KAI unit.

“Some people still discriminate,” Chanyeol says quietly.

“Some people are stuck in the past,” she says. “Tell me this: do you think Jongin is creative?”

Chanyeol thinks back to the cake, the elegant little sugar flowers pouring out over the surface.

“I think he’s more creative than I am,” he admits.

“Make sure he knows,” Dr. Kang says. “I think, for Jongin, it would be heartening to hear from you.”

“He already knows,” Chanyeol says, a bit defensive. “I tell him stuff like that all the time.”

“It never hurts to reinforce it,” she says with a smile.

They talk about Jongin for his whole session, and Chanyeol never runs out of things to say or stories to tell or questions to ask. Chanyeol can’t seem to think of anything else, Jongin’s smile still stuck in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boyfriends™
> 
> tbh i dont feel as confident with this chapter as i did with the previous two, but! what can u do! cant win em all and u just gotta push forward and keep working hard and hope people like what ur doing! 
> 
> speaking of, i do hope you enjoyed! im working on a bunch of different projects at the moment, but i love this story and the characters very much so i'll never let it fall on the back burner. i had a busy couple of days, but i always read all ur comments and enjoy them so much and i will respond to them when i get the chance to dedicate the time they deserve!!!
> 
> ok ok, enough of me. twitter @wolfsupremacist. curiouscat /wolfsupremacist. save a fic writer, leave a comment. love you so much that, much like plant fiber, my body cant even process it. have an excellent week! just keep goin! ur doin a great job!


	12. twelve

Chanyeol doesn’t want to overstate things, but he calls them like he sees them with Jongin: life is as close to blissful as it can possibly get.

“I’m bad at this,” Chanyeol says, sullen, pouring the batter through the sieve that Jongin got from one of his old lady admirers at the market.

Jongin hooks his chin on Chanyeol’s shoulder, observes his work.

“You’re doing really well,” Jongin praises, running a hand along Chanyeol’s forearm.

“No, I’m not,” Chanyeol scowls. “Besides, you can get these six for a hundred at the shop.”

“That’s because everything’s all processed,” Jongin frowns. “No one makes these handmade anymore.”

“And for good reason,” Chanyeol says. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

Jongin presses a wet kiss to the side of Chanyeol’s neck, the suddenness of it shocking a small noise out of Chanyeol, before pinching him on the butt.

“Ow!” Chanyeol says, careful not to drop the sieve into the bowl. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You’re being fussy,” Jongin says. “Just make the fish.”

“I’m bad at it,” Chanyeol says, brushing oil over the inside of the pan. It sizzles, and it’s strangely enjoyable. Maybe cooking isn’t so bad after all, but he’ll never stop giving Jongin shit. “Can’t we just go get some from the corner?”

“Mm, but you’re doing it so good,” Jongin says, huddling back into Chanyeol’s space, arms wrapped around Chanyeol’s body. “And it’s so cold out.”

“It’s not _that_ cold,” Chanyeol mutters, pouring the batter into the divots slowly.

“But it’s nice and warm in here,” Jongin says, pressing kisses to Chanyeol’s hair. “With you. Making bungeoppang _by hand_. What a nice boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and _boyfriend_ settles nicely in his bloodstream. “Well, don’t get used to it. What kind do you want?”

“Mm,” Jongin says. “Just red bean.”

“But you bought all the stuff for--for soy butter and chocolate, for the custard..” Chanyeol says.

“You can have whatever kind you want,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol spoons in the red filling before shutting the iron, turning in Jongin’s embrace.

“Mm,” Jongin says. “Warm.”

“It’s _hot,_ ” Chanyeol complains.

“Warm,” Jongin says, pleased as he buries his face in Chanyeol’s chest. “You did such a good job, baby.”

 _Baby,_ Jongin calls him. Chanyeol can’t remember the last time someone called him that. Maybe Sehun, but Sehun always says it like it’s a joke. It never feels like a joke when Jongin says it.

Chanyeol rests his head on Jongin’s, the hissing of the iron music to his ears. Through the window, the first snows spiral down, whipped up with ash and wind. Chanyeol shuts his eyes. He was right. Blissful. Blissful is the right word for it.

 

⚠

 

Walks are different now, now that they’re together. Chanyeol feels like he could walk and never stop walking with Jongin. He has so many stories already, so much personality that it feels like he has enough to spare for Chanyeol.

“You have plenty of personality,” Jongin says defensively.

“I’m boring,” Chanyeol says, scuffing his feet along the pavement.

“You saying you’re boring is the most boring thing about you,” Jongin says as he rolls his eyes.

Chanyeol smiles, tightens his hand around Jongin’s.

“I think _you’re_ the most interesting thing about me,” Chanyeol says.

Chanyeol looks forward, but he sees the movement from Jongin from his peripheral. He bites down on a smile, feeling like maybe he went a little overboard, they’ve only been dating for a couple weeks now, but…

He turns, sees Jongin looking at him. Stars and smiles.

“You’re too cute,” Jongin says.

He squeezes Chanyeol’s hand, rubs the back of Chanyeol’s hand with his thumb.

“Just trying to keep up with you,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin rolls his eyes again, this time, a grin painted across his face. And isn’t it a masterpiece?

“Come on,” Jongin says, pulling him quick. “The snow’s stopped. I wanna go kiss by the river.”

Chanyeol lets himself be led, easily suggestible when he’s thinking of Jongin’s lips.

 

⚠

 

Saturday nights, Chanyeol’s more likely to agree to things. Jongin knows this. Jongin abuses this. Chanyeol hates him.

“Come _on_ ,” Jongin says. “You’ve never gone before!”

“Not to that one specifically,” Chanyeol says. “But I have been to others, and it can’t be much different.”

“Yeah, but Mirae and Seojun said this one was _really_ cool,” Jongin says, brushing paint onto his eyes. “They said only dunds don’t go.”

“If Mirae and Seojun jumped off the interway, would you jump too?” Chanyeol asks.

“Yes, I would,” Jongin says, smiling.

“I hate you,” Chanyeol says.

“You love me,” Jongin says. “And that’s why you’re gonna take me.”

Jongin looks up, and, God, he’s all made up: gold eyes, gold lips, a streak of gold and mint green and silver at his cheekbones. He is stunning, ethereal and completely unaware.

“Yeah, alright,” Chanyeol says. “But don’t expect me to dance.”

“Makeup then?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, sits down next to Jongin.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” Jongin says, delighted as he picks up his brush.

“I’m the _only_ boyfriend you’ve ever had,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin grabs Chanyeol by the jaw, holds him there.

“That’s what I said,” Jongin says, and he brings the brush to Chanyeol’s eye. “Now hold still.”

 

⚠

 

The dance hall they go to is called Circuit, and it’s situated on the west side, along the rest of the clubs. People pour into the streets, and the air is thick with the sweet, earthy smell of nip. Chanyeol thinks maybe this was a bad idea, being around so many tempting things, but then, he looks at Jongin who smiles at him, white and bright, and he reconsiders.

“You okay?” Jongin asks, hand tight around Chanyeol’s as they walk.

The light is streaming, red, blue, and green. His anxiety is swelling by the minute, but Jongin helps.

“I’m okay,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin’s smile is as brilliant as the lights and the music, sharp and prickling in the senses.

They walk into line, plodding as people flash their wrists to the scanner before moving through the double doors. Jongin simmers beside him, barely containing his excitement, and it makes Chanyeol happy that he’s able to do something like this for him: it’s not exactly his scene anymore, but Jongin seems interested. It’s the least he can do.

When the time comes, Jongin has his wrist ready and lets the scan read him before walking in. Chanyeol follows close behind.

He walks through the doors, and he immediately sees what the fuss was all about. Circuit is huge, and everything is black and shining blue.

The clubs he used to go to were dingy, dark and dirty. Circuit is just as dark, and it reminds him a little of where he spent so many of his nights. The thought sits uncomfortable in his throat: he can’t remember too much of those days.

“Okay?” Jongin asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin clicks on his earpiece, eyes staring off in the middle distance as he listens.

“They’re coming in now!” Jongin says. “I’m gonna go meet them, okay?”

“Go ahead,” Chanyeol says. “I’m gonna grab something to drink.”

“Get me a nectar?” Jongin says, shooting Chanyeol a smile over his shoulder as he walks off towards the door to meet his friends.

Chanyeol goes to the bar, clicks some buttons, watches as his drink is mixed right before his eyes, the ice-case unlocking as he flashes his wrist to grab Jongin a nectar. He goes to a table, and he takes a sip of his drink. The alcohol calms his nerves just a bit, and he bites his lip as he sees Jongin walking over with two strangers.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says. “This is Mirae.”

The girl is a Joy unit, but her hair is dyed a bright cherry red, and her lips match, a gorgeous smile on her face. It’s cold out, but she’s wearing next to nothing, a rainbow dress that glitters and shines in the low light and high black combat boots, laced up her legs.

“Hi,” she says cheerfully, rubbing her arm, and Chanyeol notices her nails: painted black and trimmed short. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, reaching forward to shake her hand. “Same.”

“And this is Jun,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol can’t tell if he’s android or not, but he’s tall and he’s handsome, and it’s worrisome.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says.

“Hey,” Seojun says, and he doesn’t smile the way Mirae and Jongin do, so Chanyeol offers him nothing in return.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, thick like the fog over the floor, before Jongin grabs Mirae by the hand.

“You wanna dance?” he asks excitedly.

She doesn’t answer, just pulls him by the hand off to the group of moving bodies.

“Are you coming?” Jongin asks as she drags him off.

“You have fun,” Chanyeol shouts, and then, he’s left with Seojun at the little standing table.

Seojun doesn’t say anything for several moments, and Chanyeol doesn’t either. He sips at his drink, watches as Jongin and Mirae dance against each other. And maybe that’s where he’s learned some of the truly torturous shit he does: Chanyeol smiles, thinking about it.  

Seojun interrupts that thought, loud over the thumping music.

“So you guys are together?” Seojun asks.

Chanyeol doesn’t expect that, so he accidentally sets his cup down a bit harder than he would have liked to.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, voice straining over the noise. “We are.”

“Been a couple weeks now?” Seojun asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Two or three.”

Seojun doesn’t say anything, and for some reason, that coupled with the flashing lights really rubs Chanyeol the wrong way.

“How do you know Jongin?” Chanyeol asks.

“Mirae introduced us,” Seojun says. “She and I dated.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “That’s nice.”

Seojun scoffs.

“I guess,” he says. “We both used each other for sexual awakenings, and then hit the fuckin’ bricks.”

Chanyeol takes another sip of his drink, letting the alcohol sting in the back of his throat. What kind of asshole opens a conversation like that? Even Chanyeol knows better.

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “Well that’s good, I guess.”

“She actually introduced me to Jongin,” Seojun says, staring out at the dance floor where Mirae and Jongin are hugging each other close, “because she thought we‘d be good together.”

 _Of course_ , Chanyeol thinks. It all makes sense now. The strange hostility. The reason he’s never met them before. The way he watches Jongin like he’s staring in a store-window, watching something he wants to purchase and have shipped back to his house.

“I asked him out,” Seojun says. “And he turned me down.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “That’s too bad.”

 _For you,_ Chanyeol wants to add, but he figures he’s already won.

“Turns out, he already knew he wanted to date you instead,” Seojun says.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says, feeling distinctly un-sorry.

Seojun turns, eyes him. There is a moment, just a slim, narrow moment, where Chanyeol thinks maybe he’ll get into his first fist-fight in his entire life. But then Seojun breaks it, shatters through the slim, narrow nothing of a second just as he would put his foot through glass.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, all but sneering. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

With that, he pats the table. Before Chanyeol can get a word in edgewise, Seojun turns and walks over, winding and weaving his way through people until he is huddled between Jongin and Mirae. He flashes a look over at Chanyeol before wrapping Jongin in a hug, Jongin laughing loudly, glimmering and gleaming and gold.

Chanyeol never learned to be the most competitive person in the world, but there’s no time like the present to start.

He drains his drink in one long pull, grabs the bottle of nectar, and crosses the room. There’s a rush of blood to the head, the lights and the alcohol, and it carries him over on a cloud of confidence. He winds an arm around Jongin’s waist, pulling him from Seojun. That alone is enough to make Chanyeol grin. 

“Hey,” Jongin says, breathless.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, and he closes the gap between them, kissing Jongin firmly.

Maybe it is the music or the booze or the dull smell of nip still circling above them, a contact high, or maybe it is the hall itself, pulsing with life and electricity, but Chanyeol feels invincible as Jongin pushes himself into Chanyeol’s embrace. Are they making a scene? A voice in the back, _back_ of Chanyeol’s head wonders, but he shoves it away, kisses Jongin with as much as he has in him. More than he has in him. 

When Chanyeol finally pulls back to catch his breath, giving everything he had to spare to Jongin, he gets no space between them. Jongin just crowds back in, his body against Chanyeol’s.

“I brought you your drink,” Chanyeol says against Jongin’s lips, touching the cold bottle to the back of Jongin's neck and watching him shiver. 

“Yay,” Jongin says, and he licks at Chanyeol’s mouth, kittenish and sweet.

He can’t help his body’s reaction to Jongin. He’s been ripped from the seams of Chanyeol’s dreams, and it’s magical, the way Jongin manages to make his imagination seem so small. Jongin is larger than life itself. He breathes energy. Breathes lust, and as he takes Chanyeol in another kiss, he slips a thigh between Chanyeol’s and pushes into Chanyeol’s growing erection, proving that he's well-aware of the effect. 

There’s a whimper on Chanyeol's tongue, and he’s sure that Jongin can taste it, but in the thrum of bodies, the eyes and the stars therein, Chanyeol lets himself forget about all of it. They kiss under flashes, under bass lines. Above everyone else. Plastered together and drunk on each other. 

It’s only later, as they walk home in the early Sunday morning light, that Chanyeol comes to terms with how chained up he really is. Bound and happy for it. 

 

⚠

 

“Here,” he says, sliding the box over. “I don’t know what you want with them, but I don’t wanna know.”

Minseo smiles, takes the box of spare parts that Chanyeol has to offer.

“Where’s your better half?” she asks.

“Getting me anti-after,” Chanyeol says with a groan.

“You should drink more vita,” Minseo says sagely. “And you shouldn’t drink.”

“All you do is nag me anymore,” Chanyeol says, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she says, patting him on the back. “I suppose it was a late night?”

“Late morning too,” Chanyeol says.

“Sit for a minute and regale me with tales of what young people do,” Minseo says. “It’s been so long, I can hardly remember what it's like to be young and in love.”

Chanyeol sits in the seat beside her, rests his head in his hands.  _In love_ , Chanyeol thinks. How did he manage to get here? 

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Chanyeol says, laughing. “I’m just getting too old for this shit.”

“Where did you go?” Minseo asks.

“A dance club,” Chanyeol says.

“Ah,” she smiles.

“What?”

“He’s mentioned that he wanted to go,” she says. “You’re spoiling him.”

“Well, you're the one who told me to,” Chanyeol says, and he shoves his shoulder into hers. 

A moment later, she nudges him right back. 

 

⚠

 

When they’re loading dishes into the washer, Jongin bites his lip, a glass in his hand.

“Fatality tonight?” he asks.

It winds its way through him, sand through a maze. Chanyeol doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to watch Princess Fatality again without getting immediately, painfully hard. All they do is kiss, and Jongin has adopted Chanyeol’s strategy, taking a liking to straddling Chanyeol, making it stupidly hard to resist pulling him down by the hips until they brush against each other.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, swallowing his spit. “Sounds good.”

Jongin looks especially mischievous as he brings Chanyeol to the living room, and there’s no pomp or circumstance about it: he sets an episode up quickly before pushing Chanyeol back by the shoulders, sitting him down, and climbing on like Chanyeol’s the only seat available to him.

“Hello,” Chanyeol says.

“Hi there,” Jongin says, before he dives forward and kisses Chanyeol passionately from the start.

Chanyeol gasps, and Jongin surges, licking in and swallowing Chanyeol’s sounds. They settle into it after a minute, and Chanyeol holds Jongin by the hips, tries to still him from moving, but it’s no use. Jongin grinds into Chanyeol’s lap, slow little twists of his hips. Chanyeol thinks back to Circuit, the way they danced and the way they kissed, and the memories coupled with the sensations are so mind-numbingly hot that Chanyeol can barely think, barely breathe.

Jongin doesn’t give a minute to think, no time to breathe, either. He kisses across Chanyeol’s face, down his neck, rubbing into Chanyeol right where he absolutely shouldn’t. Chanyeol doesn’t know how much longer he can take it, but they’ve only just begun. Once Jongin starts kissing around to Chanyeol’s ear, licking at the lobe, Chanyeol starts to laugh because it's obscene; he’s rock fucking hard.

He pushes Jongin back, only to see him looking confused.

“What?” Jongin asks with a tilt of the head.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says, breathing still catching up.

“You’re attracted to me, right?” Jongin asks, biting his lip.

Chanyeol laughs, soft little puffs of air.

“If I wasn’t, I don’t think I would be kissing you right now,” Chanyeol says, and he proves his point, moving up to wind his tongue with Jongin’s, listening intently for the sounds that leak out like smoke from a blown gasket.

But Jongin’s hands come to Chanyeol’s shoulders, and he shoves him back. Chanyeol feels his eyes go wide, but he swallows down his fear.

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol furrows his brow. Surely, he must have misheard.

“Well?” Jongin asks, and he folds his arms over his chest.

It looks silly, Jongin still perched over Chanyeol’s lap.

“Well…?” Chanyeol asks.

“Well, why haven’t we had sex yet?” Jongin asks again, a bit more petulantly than the first time around.

“Uh,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t know.”

“We’ve been boyfriends for three weeks now,” Jongin says. “I think that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait, since I’ve never had sex before.”

“Sure,” Chanyeol says, barely wrapping his mind around the situation at hand.

“You’ve had sex before, right?” Jongin asks, hands on Chanyeol’s neck, too hot. Much too hot.  

“Um, yes,” Chanyeol says.

“What kind of sex?” Jongin asks, eyes glittering.

“Um,” Chanyeol says, and he shifts in his seat.

“Oral sex?” Jongin asks, and Chanyeol’s stomach drops out, and the heat, the honey rushes in. “Anal sex?”

“Uh, yes,” Chanyeol says. “Those kinds.”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jongin asks, and if Chanyeol could will the Earth to swallow him whole, he would be burning in the molten hot core by now.

“Uh,” Chanyeol says. “Y-yes, I do.”

“Good,” Jongin says. “I want to have sex with you too.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Well, that’s...that’s good then.”

“Yes,” Jongin says, breathing out with relief. “I was starting to think that maybe you didn’t want to.”

 _Didn’t want to_ , Chanyeol scoffs. _Didn’t want to_. Is he blind? Is he deaf? Chanyeol was trying his best to be careful, sure, but he knows the sounds that escaped him. He knows that Jongin must have felt him, hard and desperate.

“I want to,” Chanyeol says. “I just didn’t want to force you into anything you didn't want.”

Jongin makes a face.

“As if you could,” Jongin says, and he lowers himself a bit into Chanyeol’s lap. “I’m stronger than you.”

“You know what I mean,” Chanyeol says.

“I do,” Jongin says. “But I want it.”

“Y-you want it,” Chanyeol says, confirming with Jongin but trying to convince himself of it as well.

“It’s part of relationships,” Jongin says.

“Not all relationships,” Chanyeol says.

“Maybe not, but I want it to be part of ours,” Jongin says.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol pushes him up against the wall, and he has to remind himself to take it slowly, but the arousal is pushing through his bloodstream steadily now, and it’s hard to swallow it down. Jongin is eager, thrumming with energy, and he gives as good as he gets, kissing Chanyeol excitably.

“Shower,” Chanyeol says, dotting a kiss to Jongin’s lips.

“Come with me,” Jongin says, returning the kiss.

Chanyeol frowns. 

“We’ll just get distracted,” Chanyeol says.

“Research has shown that distraction is the whole point,” Jongin says, pulling Chanyeol in by the hand.

It’s not the first time Jongin’s seen Chanyeol naked, but it is the first time Chanyeol’s seen Jongin naked, and that’s why he holds his breath as Jongin strips himself down, peeling out of his clothes with an effortless sex appeal that he doesn’t think anyone else in the world could replicate.

Once he's finally, blessedly naked, Jongin rubs a hand over his stomach.

“Is--is this okay?” Jongin asks.

It’s maybe moving a little fast, faster than he’d like to, but it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. So he tells Jongin as much.

“Shut up,” he says shyly before padding over to the touch screen and starting the water. Chanyeol stands there, surely looking like a fool as he watches Jongin pour over the tile floor, body fluid like the water itself.

Jongin turns as he steps into the shower, water gliding over his skin.

“Are you coming?” he asks, a pretty, puckish smile on his face. 

Chanyeol steps forward, and then, once he’s under the rainfall, he hesitates.

“What?” Jongin says.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin furrows a perfectly arched brow before pulling Chanyeol by the biceps until they share an embrace, nothing between them by the water. Jongin’s skin is so soft, his eyes so deep and bright. Chanyeol loves him. He _loves_ him. And it's pure torture. 

They kiss for too long, pulling and pulling from each other. Jongin twists Chanyeol's hair in his fingers, pulling him closer. Chanyeol dips his hands down, just past the small of Jongin's back, pulling a gasp from Jongin as they touch. The grind is slow, scintillating and spine-tingling. Jongin's cheeks are ruddy with color as he moans, moving against Chanyeol with purpose. It's insane, the level of detail. He groans. 

By the time they start to actually clean up, Chanyeol’s fingers have pruned.

“I told you,” Chanyeol huffs as he bends back, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. “A distraction.”

“A good one, I hope,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol watches as he soaps down his torso, staring down at his body, before he takes his cock, hard and thick, in his hand.

Chanyeol stands up straight, unable to look away as Jongin touches himself. Questions flood him. Does Jongin do this often? Does he think about Chanyeol? Has he? How long has he wanted to get here? How long has Chanyeol been holding himself back for no reason at all?

Jongin flicks his eyes up, watching as Chanyeol watches him. He is pure sex. Unfiltered. Uncut. The best drug Chanyeol’s ever tried, and by far the most addicting.

Jongin steps forward and then, with a curious hand, strokes up and down Chanyeol’s cock as he pulls on his own.

“Oh, fuck,” Chanyeol moans.

“Ah,” Jongin says, tightening his fingers around Chanyeol’s dick, rubbing around the head where Chanyeol is most sensitive. “Is that good?”

“Too good,” Chanyeol says.

Chanyeol has never known urgency like this before. He grabs them both, directs them under the water, letting all the soap spiral away. He wraps them up with warm towels, and he pushes them off to his room.

 

⚠

 

Once they’re lying in Chanyeol’s bed, Jongin beneath him, it hits him: this isn’t a dream. This is real. It’s real, and he has a responsibility to make it mind-blowingly good for Jongin. The pressure builds at the base of his spine, and it sits there, only fizzling away once Jongin reaches between his own legs, starts petting his fingers down between them.

“Are you--” Chanyeol starts.

“Whatever you want,” Jongin says.

“You’ve never--,” Chanyeol says.

“No,” Jongin says. “So whatever you want.”

“No,” Chanyeol smiles, and he leans down, kisses Jongin sweetly just to hear him gasp, to hear him moan prettily.

“But I don’t know what I want,” Jongin whines.

“You’ll figure it out,” Chanyeol says. “Let’s start with this.”

He leans down and kisses Jongin’s cheek chastely.

“Good?” Chanyeol asks.

“Shut up,” Jongin says, wiggling beneath Chanyeol maddeningly.

“How about…”

Chanyeol kisses the side of Jongin’s neck, the soft under of his throat, open mouthed and wet. The sounds leak out of Jongin slow, and to call it rewarding would be an understatement. Chanyeol feels his pride swell as Jongin arches, offering his neck to be kissed, hands tangled in Chanyeol’s hair. 

“You like that?” Chanyeol asks.

“Yes,” Jongin hisses.

“Should I try here?” Chanyeol asks, running a finger along the shell of Jongin’s ear and watching him shiver.

“Yes,” Jongin says. “Please.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, “you’re so nice. Asking politely.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Jongin says.

“Where’d your manners go?” Chanyeol asks, lowering his mouth to kiss, suck at the lobe of Jongin’s ear, delighted to hear him groan. “Do you like that?”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin whines. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” Chanyeol says, mouthing at Jongin’s ear before he blows lightly.

Jongin’s body twitches, and he gasps like he didn’t expect it.

“When you touch yourself,” Chanyeol says, emboldened, “what do you think about?”

“Stop,” Jongin says, reaching a hand up to cover half his face. “I can’t.”

“Can’t talk?” Chanyeol asks, kissing and sucking marks to Jongin’s neck. “Why not?”

“I’m...it’s embarrassing,” Jongin says.

“No, it isn’t,” Chanyeol says. “Nothing you say could ever be embarrassing.”

“Shut up,” Jongin says.

“Do you want me to tell you instead?” Chanyeol offers.

Jongin nods, small.

Chanyeol runs a finger along Jongin’s collarbone, his fingernail teasing the sensitive skin. He smiles when he hears Jongin’s pretty noise of surprise, finding a particularly sensitive spot. Chanyeol kisses that spot, hot, wet. Sucking until the skin goes sanguine.

“I think about you,” Chanyeol says. “I thought about you like this, all breathless and moaning for me. Because of what I did.”

“ _Please_ ,” Jongin says. “Chanyeol.”

“Say it again,” Chanyeol says. “Say my name again.”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin moans.

“I only like my name when you say it,” Chanyeol says.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin repeats.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says before he crushes their lips together, already aching with how much he needs Jongin. He needs to take it slow, but Jongin is addictive. It’s hard not to throw himself into it, into him. 

They kiss, kiss, kiss. It is forever and a day, but Chanyeol could live right here, right here in this. Jongin's eyelashes are long and dotted with tears, and when he blinks, Chanyeol is overwhelmed. 

"Are you okay?" Chanyeol asks. 

"Yes," Jongin says, licking his lips. "Yes."

"Good," Chanyeol says. "We can stop here, if you want." 

“Can I suck you?” Jongin asks sweetly, and Chanyeol nearly comes right there, his wet dreams turned into reality.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, and he strokes his thumb along Jongin’s bottom lip. “Not tonight.”

Jongin pouts, lips plush, before he opens his mouth and takes Chanyeol’s thumb in, sucking on it. Making Chanyeol rethink his plan.

“I just want to take it slow,” Chanyeol says, and he fucks his thumb in and out of Jongin’s mouth, the visual almost too much to handle. “Is that okay?”

Jongin nods, licking around the tip of Chanyeol’s thumb before letting it fall from his lips.

“Good,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin thrusts up at the praise, his cock brushing wet against Chanyeol’s. It’s so fucking hot, so _fucking_ hot, that Chanyeol bites his lip just to keep himself together. “Shit.”

Chanyeol lays his body down, holding himself up by only a touch, and he pushes his cock against Jongin’s, listening intently for the way he moans brokenly.

“More,” Jongin says. “More.”

He grinds himself into Jongin, wrapping him up in his arms, and the friction is delicious. Chanyeol kisses the side of Jongin’s neck, and Jongin bows his back in response before surging up to roll Chanyeol onto his back.

“Ah,” Chanyeol moans, surprised.

Jongin leans back, shooting him a smile before mirroring Chanyeol, hugging Chanyeol close as he starts to work his hips. It is so fucking good, and he wonders how he went so long without it. There is nothing like having the weight of someone on him, nothing like  _Jongin_ on him, and just the thought alone gets him impossibly harder.

They are a mess of limbs and kissing and moaning, and Chanyeol has never felt hotter, his body bubbling under Jongin’s. He's close to boiling over, steam and smoke. 

“F-f--,” Jongin hisses into Chanyeol’s ear, on the brink of a curse.

“Good?” Chanyeol asks.

“Good, oh...oh, I’m,” Jongin moans, and then he’s thrusting erratically, all rhythm and technique gone from him.

Chanyeol reaches up, holds Jongin’s jaw in his hands before pulling him into a kiss. Jongin’s chest heaves, leaking whimpers into Chanyeol’s mouth as he moves. He hurdles over the edge, shooting warm over Chanyeol’s stomach.

“Fuck,” Chanyeol says, staring down at himself, streaked with Jongin.

Jongin’s head hangs, laboring through his breathing for a moment or two before he sits up between Chanyeol’s spread legs, swiping across Chanyeol’s stomach with fascination. Chanyeol squirms through the touch, more sensitive than he can ever remember being before. 

“Should I...do you want me to touch you?” Jongin asks.

His cheeks are flushed, eyes wet. He has never looked more beautiful. No one has ever looked more beautiful.

“I-if you want,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin’s fist around his cock is tight and wet, and it feels like heaven as he lets Chanyeol thrust his hips up into it. Chanyeol doesn't think about how he looks or how he sounds, only thinks about Jongin and how much he loves him. Loves him.  

“You’re so beautiful,” Jongin says, voice awed, and that’s all it takes for Chanyeol to dive headfirst over, whining as he comes hard, core tensing.

When he opens his eyes, Jongin is reaching to his mouth, fingers dipping into his mouth to taste. Chanyeol’s cock flexes, pulses and shoots another weak little shot at the sight. Jongin smiles.

“Good?” he asks.

“Really good,” Chanyeol says. “You?”

“Really good,” Jongin says.

He crashes to the bed, and Chanyeol huddles into his arms. Warm. Sated. Complete.

He fades off into the darkness, wrapped in Jongin’s arms. If his story ended here, he thinks, it wouldn’t be such a bad ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that was something 
> 
> leave a comment if u are so inclined. follow my twitter (@wolfsupremacist) if you love self-hatred. prompt me something if you want to never see it completed (im kidding, ill get around to it eventually) 
> 
> [guy fieri voice] so that's it for this edition. ill be looking for you next time on diners, drive-ins and dives. 
> 
> have a very good week, and kick the pants off of whatever it is youre trying to get done! ♡ u got it ♡


	13. thirteen

A gentle song starts playing, and the lights rise, artificial yellow like daybreak. It is too early for real light. The world is still dark. He grimaces. Monday. At least he had a nice dream

He rolls over, and he hits something firm. Warm like a furnace. The morning song continues to play, gradually increasing in volume as everything comes crashing back to him. It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.

Chanyeol opens his eyes. Jongin, mouth open. Lips wet. Still asleep.

Chanyeol sits up, scrambles for the remote at the bedside table and shuts everything off. The room plunges back into pre-dawn darkness, the music cut. He breathes out slowly, and he sets the remote down back where it belongs.

Jongin stirs next to him, a small sound escaping him. _Fuck._

“Time is it?” Jongin asks, eyes still not open.

“Too early,” Chanyeol whispers, patting Jongin on the hand. “Go back to sleep.”

Jongin disobeys and blinks awake, moving to rest his hand on Chanyeol’s hand.

“You have to go?” Jongin asks.

“Work,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin frowns.

“Don’t,” Chanyeol says quietly. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He sits up, takes Chanyeol’s face in his hands, and kisses him all soft and sweet.

“I don’t want you to go,” Jongin says, tongue poking out to lick at Chanyeol’s lips. “I wanna finish what we started.”

Chanyeol groans, taking Jongin in a kiss and letting their bodies crash back into bed.

“You can’t say shit like that,” Chanyeol says, and he bites at Jongin’s lips. “It makes me wanna stay.”

Jongin smiles with all his teeth, and he rolls Chanyeol onto his back.

“Then stay,” Jongin says. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Chanyeol smiles.

“Yeah?” Chanyeol asks, and he folds Jongin into a hug, their bodies tight against each other. “How are you gonna do that?”

Jongin wiggles out of the hold, presses a chaste kiss to Chanyeol’s lips.

“I’m gonna feed you,” Jongin says. “Lots of good food.”

“Mm,” Chanyeol says. “That sounds good.”

Jongin kisses Chanyeol again, so pure.

“We’re gonna watch that docu-drama about the Third Industrial Revolution, that one you’ve been trying to get me to watch,” Jongin says.

“Mm,” Chanyeol says. “That sounds good too.”

Jongin crosses again, but this time instead of a pure, chaste kiss, he opens his mouth, laces his tongue with Chanyeol’s just enough to make him moan.

“And then maybe,” Jongin says, kissing down the side of Chanyeol’s neck, back to his ear, “maybe if you want to…”

His sentence goes unfinished, but Chanyeol can fill in the blanks well enough. _Oh well,_ he supposes, clicking his earpiece. He has a cache of personal days for a reason. What’s more personal than this?

The automated messaging system picks up his call, and he breathes out, trying to steady himself as Jongin sucks a bruise to his neck.

“Code 144,” Chanyeol says. “Employee CY754.”

 _Personal day logged,_ the system replies mechanically, and Chanyeol moans out after the call is dropped, Jongin snaking a hand down between their bodies.

“You’ve never stayed home before,” Jongin says, soft and happy. “Not even when I first woke up.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin tightens his hand around Chanyeol’s cock.

“I won’t,” Jongin whispers. “Let’s stay in bed. All day.”

 

⚠

 

When Chanyeol wakes next, the room is still dark, but he can see, can _feel_ Jongin moving on top of him, grinding himself into Chanyeol’s.

“F-f--, what are you doing?” Chanyeol grits, and he takes Jongin’s hips in his hands.

“I had a dream,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol wonders if that’s true. Can Jongin dream? He would have thought...he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of it all, never too good with all the tech shit everyone else seems to be good at. He thought there was power saving. He doesn’t even know how they’d replicate something like that, REM sleep. It seems too complex, too human. Was it just a figure of speech?

“What did you dream about?” Chanyeol asks instead.

Jongin’s hands are small, and one isn’t enough to wrap around both of them properly, so he takes them in two hands, stroking up and down until Chanyeol is pushing into it, moaning.

“I dreamt about this. About us,” Jongin moans, throwing his head back, the line of his throat too beautiful to stand.

Chanyeol sits up, Jongin’s chest against his own. He kisses Jongin, kisses him and holds him. He never wants to let go. He won’t ever let go.

They come together, and Chanyeol doesn’t know what time it is. Doesn’t care to know.

 

⚠

 

“You said you were gonna feed me,” Chanyeol says against Jongin’s mouth.

The sheets are tangled around Chanyeol’s legs by now, and he works on kicking them down and off the bed. Chanyeol is laying over him, holding himself up as he kisses Jongin soundly. Tries to will himself to calmness for just a moment.

“I am,” Jongin says, and he starts sitting up. “If you’d let me go to the kitchen.”

Chanyeol pushes him back by the shoulders until he’s lying flat against the mattress again, and then Chanyeol lays down, holding Jongin there with his weight.

“No,” Chanyeol says.

“We’re gonna starve this way,” Jongin smiles.

“Oh well,” Chanyeol says, and he kisses Jongin’s cheek, his jaw, down the side of his neck. Jongin’s sensitive there, he’s found. He wonders what it feels like to him.

They kiss, kiss, kiss, the wet sounds that they make hot in just the right way. Everything they do is drenched in heat, in sticky-sweet honey, and Chanyeol feels when Jongin hardens under him.

“Again?” Chanyeol smiles.

“S-shut up,” Jongin says, and he wears his embarrassment cutely, the way he wears everything else.

Chanyeol pets across Jongin’s chest with a hand, the other holding Jongin by the nape of his neck. Jongin opens, blooms when Chanyeol plays across his nipple, touch light. Teasing.

“Ah,” Jongin moans, biting his lip when Chanyeol pinches and rolls it between his fingers. “Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol doesn’t respond, just slithers down Jongin’s body until he can lave Jongin’s chest with his tongue, kissing and sucking where he pleases.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin moans.

“You told me to shut up,” Chanyeol says, and he licks at the underside of Jongin’s pectoral, leaning in when Jongin thrusts up at the feeling.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin whines. “Please.”

Chanyeol looks up, makes eye contact with Jongin as he sucks and licks at Jongin’s nipple.

“Please what?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin’s expression shifts, tentative and shameful.

“Please,” Jongin says, and he takes Chanyeol’s face in his hands, guiding him down.

 _Oh,_ Chanyeol thinks. _Of course._

It’s been a while, but if Sehun has instilled in him anything, it’s that you never forget. He shakes his head, shaking away all thoughts of Sehun at a time like this, and starts kissing his way down Jongin’s body. It’s criminal that he hasn’t done this before, with Jongin’s body being what it is. Still, he wanted to make sure Jongin was comfortable, make sure he knew what he wanted. If the way he’s squirming under Chanyeol, trying to push him further down his body is any indication, he knows what he wants.

He licks the tip of Jongin’s cock just to hear him whine. It’s pretty, everything about him is pretty, but his cock is thick and flushed, and Chanyeol is hungry for it. He holds himself back despite this; he wants Jongin as desperate as he feels.

He takes his time laying little kisses around the low part of Jongin’s stomach, and he hears Jongin taking shallower and shallower breaths as he moves down to lick at the jutting lines of Jongin’s hip bones.

“Ah,” Jongin says.

“Good?” Chanyeol asks before sucking the thin skin into his mouth to leave a mark.

“Yeah,” Jongin says. And Chanyeol takes that praise to heart, lets it fill him up completely. Head to toe.

He licks at Jongin’s balls, smooth sweeps of his tongue along the sensitive skin. Jongin’s legs start to shake, tremble as Chanyeol licks lower, lower.

“Ah,” Jongin moans, hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing,” Chanyeol says, thinking _I just want to taste every inch of you._

His love is selfish, and he doesn’t care. He’ll be selfish here. He’s allowed.

Jongin takes his cock in his hand, fingers wrapped around the base, and he taps the head against Chanyeol’s lips, wet and red.

“You want me to suck it?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin whimpers out his answer. Chanyeol takes pity on him, sucking the tip into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the pre-come that drips out.

“Oh,” Jongin moans loudly. “Oh, Chanyeol. Baby.”

 _Baby_ sinks into his bloodstream the way it always does. Chanyeol hollows his cheeks, the wet sounds that accompany his work dirty in the best possible way. He bobs his head, takes all of Jongin that he can.

“I’m gonna come,” Jongin moans, and it hits Chanyeol that this is Jongin’s first blowjob. And he’s the one giving it to him.

He swallows Jongin down to the root, and when Jongin grinds in, Chanyeol’s nose is pressed to the downy hair of Jongin’s lower abdomen. He swallows Jongin’s come in shifts, and it’s hot, it’s _so_ hot that Chanyeol feels like he might choke on it.

When Jongin is finally shivering, overstimulated by the soft back of Chanyeol’s throat, he comes up for air only to see Jongin looking perfectly debauched. Perfectly ruined. His hair is a mess, his skin shines with sweat, his lips are so red and bitten that Chanyeol is worried he might bleed.

“Come for me,” Jongin says sweetly. “Please?”

Chanyeol takes himself in his hand, stroking hard and fast.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, embarrassingly turned on just from sucking Jongin’s dick, swallowing Jongin’s release. He feels vaguely as if he’s about to faint when he finally falls over the edge, numb from the neck down for a couple seconds before he falls forward, exhausted.

“Mm,” Jongin moans, and he wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s neck, trying to bring Chanyeol close.

Chanyeol stares at Jongin’s stomach, and he bites his lip. He covered him, and the heat that flares in Chanyeol’s stomach is possessive. He watches as Jongin trails his fingers through it, scoops it up and licks at it. Chanyeol wonders if maybe Jongin knows Chanyeol better than he knows himself: he gets right to the core of him. To his base desires.

Before he can lose himself completely in thought, Jongin reaches up, fingers wet with Chanyeol’s come.

He taps his fingertips across Chanyeol’s lips until Chanyeol opens his mouth and lets Jongin slowly slip his fingers in, letting Chanyeol lick him clean. It takes a while, and Jongin watches him heatedly, but it’s strangely calming and by the end of it, they’re both wiped clean to the slate.

“I told you I’d feed you,” Jongin smiles.

Chanyeol stares down at him, shocked.

“I thought it was funny,” Jongin says.

“It was, I’m just…” Chanyeol says, “shocked.”

Jongin smiles, and he rolls Chanyeol onto his back, cozying up to him. The moments are quiet, strung together with softness. Chanyeol closes his eyes. Tries to count how many orgasms he’s had. He’s losing track.

“I feel like we’re never gonna stop doing that,” Jongin says, and when Chanyeol opens his eyes, Jongin’s cheeks are rosy.

“Good,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin’s head rests on his chest as they fall back to sleep.

 

⚠

 

They do make it out of bed to eat, but they stand in the kitchen naked, and they feed each other by hand. It feels like foreplay, like the longest foreplay he’s ever endured. Jongin contradicts himself, sweet and sexy at the same time as he holds things out for Chanyeol to take.

“Mm,” Jongin says, kissing Chanyeol as they finish. “We should shower.”

Chanyeol shuts his eyes, images of the other night rushing in like water. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go. He’s never had sex like this. He’s never _felt_ like this: insatiable. Throat dry with thirst that can’t be quenched.

Water pours over them, and they hold each other like it is the end of the world. Chanyeol thinks maybe he wouldn’t mind.

“Are you tired?” Jongin asks, reverently washing Chanyeol clean.

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I’m not tired.”

“Good,” Jongin says, and he kisses Chanyeol hard, water running between their lips. “Me neither.”

They move slow, slow like honey dripping. They touch each other carefully, tentatively, and Chanyeol knows that they are on the verge of something big. There isn’t anything playful about it. It feels serious. It feels special.

Chanyeol wraps them both in towels, walks them back to the bedroom, and when Jongin lays on the bed, he spreads his legs like an invitation.

“Come here,” Jongin says, and it’s sex. It’s pure sex.

Chanyeol goes when he’s called, lays between Jongin’s legs, and takes Jongin’s cock in his hand.

“What do you want?” Chanyeol asks, ready to give Jongin anything. Everything.

He knows that Jongin is comfortable, knows that he wants it, because he grabs Chanyeol by the jaw, brings him into a kiss before whispering.

“I want to fuck you,” Jongin says, and it feels like an injection to the spine, and he’s momentarily numbed by the arousal.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “Yes. Do you want me to--”

He gets the gel from the table, gets on the bed, and starts…but Jongin sits up fast, grabs it from his hand.  

“Let me,” Jongin says,

“Do you know how?” Chanyeol asks, and Jongin rolls his eyes.

“I listened to a book,” Jongin says, and it’s silly, but it’s so, _so_ sweet, the thought of Jongin preparing, making sure he knew exactly what to expect.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and he lays down, spreading his legs.

“You’re pretty,” Jongin says. “Pretty everywhere.”

 _You’re one to talk_ , Chanyeol thinks, but the praise is good, is _perfect,_ is exactly what he needs to lose the tension that’s stringing him up tight.

Jongin glides slick fingers over him, slips one inside easily, and Chanyeol tries his best to watch his expression, tries not to miss anything. But the feeling makes him squeeze his eyes shut, a soft sound escaping him when he can’t hold it back.

“Is that...is that good?” Jongin asks.

“You can...you can move it,” Chanyeol says.

“Are you sure?” Jongin asks. “They said--”

“I’m sure,” Chanyeol cuts him off. “Move it.”

Jongin takes direction well, withdraws until just the tip of his finger is still inside before pushing back in, slow, steady.

“You’re so tight,” Jongin says in wonder. “H--are you sure you wanna do it like this?”

“I’m sure,” Chanyeol repeats, gritting his teeth at the thought of Jongin in his position. “Fuck.”

“Does it hurt?” Jongin asks. “Should I stop?”

“If you ask another question,” Chanyeol says, an empty threat unspoken.

Jongin grins, mischievous. Chanyeol is literally and metaphorically fucked.

“What?” Jongin asks. “What are you gonna do?”

And he couples it with a wicked twist of his wrist, the pad of his finger rubbing against Chanyeol’s prostate.

“F-fuck,” Chanyeol stutters.

“There,” Jongin says. “I didn’t think I’d find it so easily.”

“That book m-must have been something,” Chanyeol tries to joke, but his voice just overflows with a moan.

“Mm,” Jongin says, and he rubs his finger more insistently, targeting it now.

It’s been a long time since anyone has touched him there, since anyone’s taken him this way, and maybe it’s Jongin or maybe it’s both of them together, but it feels like it’s the first time. Like he’s being reborn from the fire in his chest.

“Please,” Chanyeol says. “Stop.”

“Stop?” Jongin says, immediately stilling his hand.

“Another finger,” Chanyeol says. “Hurry.”

“I’m not in a rush,” Jongin says.

“No,” Chanyeol says, and he pulls Jongin down into a kiss. “I am.”

Jongin is smiling by the time the kiss is finished, and he kisses Chanyeol on the nose when he inserts another finger, just as slow as the first. Chanyeol takes the stretch well, takes the third just as easily.

“Four?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol is breathless when he replies.

“You’re not that big,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin rolls his eyes.

“I just don’t wanna hurt you,” Jongin says, and he pushes his fingers in again, stroking against Chanyeol’s prostate until he gasps.

“You’re not,” Chanyeol says. “You’re really not.”

“Are you sure?” Jongin asks.

“Get inside me,” Chanyeol says.

When he withdraws, when he takes Chanyeol by the backs of the thighs in order to push his legs up, when he rubs the head of himself against Chanyeol’s hole, it all moves in slow motion. _How,_ Chanyeol wonders, how did he get so lucky? How did this come to be?

Jongin pushes inside, and honey drips into Chanyeol’s eyes, down his ears, down his nose and into his mouth. Jongin is everywhere, is so deep inside him, fills him up completely.

“Oh my god,” Chanyeol says, and when Jongin bottoms out, flush with Chanyeol’s body, he feels tears spring to his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jongin asks, concerned.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Yeah, I’m fine, I just--”

“What?” Jongin asks.

“I just love you,” Chanyeol says. “I’m...I’m sorry, oh my god, I shouldn’t have said that, I know we’ve only been...God, we’ve only been dating for a little while now, but I think I--”

Jongin silences him. Silences him. Again. Again.

“I love you,” Jongin says. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Chanyeol says, repeats. “Holy shit, I love you."

Chanyeol wraps his legs around Jongin, wraps his arms around him too, and when Jongin starts to rock into him, it’s sweet and hot, and it’s everything that Chanyeol has ever dreamed of.

He thrusts his hips expertly, like he’s already acquired the muscle memory, like he knows the exact way to fuck Chanyeol to hollow out the moans from his chest, hands bloody and beautiful. Slow. Pretty torture. Heavenly purgatory.

“Please,” Chanyeol whines.

“Please what?” Jongin asks.

“More,” Chanyeol breathes, or he _tries._ The words get stuck in his throat, so he cries and repeats himself. “More, please.”

“More what?” Jongin asks.

 _More of you,_ Chanyeol thinks. _I need more of you. Until there’s nothing left for you to give._

“Please,” Chanyeol cries.

“Okay, baby,” Jongin says. “Okay.”

The pace is picked up off the ground, and Chanyeol hangs onto Jongin’s hands where they’re planted on the mattress. Jongin laces their fingers together as he fucks into Chanyeol, harder, faster, tearing moans from Chanyeol’s throat as if he was ripping them out with his teeth. Chanyeol whimpers and whines, bucks his hips up, ever in search of more, more, more. He’s desperate, and he _wants,_ and he is addicted to this.

“I’m--,” Chanyeol starts, but he can’t find the words, can only think of one thing. “I love you.”

Jongin snaps his hips hard, harder, and Chanyeol moans it out louder.

“Come on,” Jongin says, and his hand wedges between them, pulling at Chanyeol’s cock until he’s on the edge. “Come on, baby.”

“Please,” Chanyeol says. “Please. Say it.”

“I love you,” Jongin says, and he kisses Chanyeol hard. “I love you.”

Chanyeol crashes into it. The best high he’s ever had.

 

⚠

 

The careful moments after sex are like glass. Moments can be shattered so easily. It shouldn’t be this way, not with someone he knows as well as Jongin, but the fact remains: they’re careful with each other. Holding each other at arm's length.

“So,” Jongin says, always the first to break silence.

“So,” Chanyeol says, always the second.

A beat. And then another. Jongin covers his face, reddening with shame. How can he manage to go from sexy to cute so quickly? Chanyeol wonders if it’s a natural talent.

“I don’t know why this is so awkward,” Jongin says through his hands.

Chanyeol inhales deeply, lets the breath sigh out.

“I’m involved,” Chanyeol says, but Jongin quickly moves, hands coming away from his face in order to pinch Chanyeol on the butt in retaliation. “Ow.”

“Shut up,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol smiles. God. He just...it’s Jongin. It’s Jongin, and it’s him. Finally, finally. He doesn’t know why he was gonna let it be uncomfortable. Not when they’re them.

“What are you thinking?” Jongin asks.

“I’m thinking,” Chanyeol reaches forward, stroking a finger along Jongin’s bottom lip, “that I really love you.”

Jongin opens his mouth, lets Chanyeol dip the tip of his finger instead, wet with saliva before he retracts it, tracing along Jongin’s mouth once more.

“Will you tell me something?” Jongin asks.

“What do you want me to tell you?” Chanyeol asks.

“Tell me,” Jongin says, rearranging his body on the bed, an arm under his head, “what you thought of Mirae and Seojun the other night.”

Chanyeol resettles too, mirroring Jongin’s body.

“I thought they were nice,” Chanyeol says, keeping a lid shut tight on his insecurity.

“Good,” Jongin says as he smiles. “They’re important to me.”

Chanyeol forces himself to smile.

“I’m glad you found them,” Chanyeol says, even though, in a secret dark part of himself, Chanyeol wishes that he alone was enough for Jongin the way Jongin alone is enough for him.

“Jun pinged me,” Jongin says, and he scoots into Chanyeol’s space, cuddling close.

“Oh yeah?” Chanyeol says, trying not to tense up his body. “What’d he say?”

“He said he thought you were really cool,” Jongin smiles. “That you were really nice to him.”

Chanyeol tries to figure it out quick: he’s not stupid. Seojun isn’t either. Why would Seojun lie? What’s his play? There is one thing Chanyeol knows, at least. Jealousy isn’t pretty. Apparently, Seojun knows it too.

“It means a lot to me,” Jongin continues. “That you were so good with them.”

“Well, you know me,” Chanyeol says. “Really nice.”

“Mm,” Jongin says, and he kisses Chanyeol on the cheek. “I know. Really nice.”

Chanyeol kisses him properly, lips and tongue, until Jongin is in his arms, his body askew on top of Chanyeol’s. It doesn’t matter, Chanyeol realizes. The world can have almost all of Jongin, whatever Jongin wants to give them. But Chanyeol will always have this. This is the part of Jongin that Chanyeol can keep all for himself.

When Jongin pulls back, he smiles and fuck, it is unavoidable: Chanyeol wants everything. Wants it all for himself. Always. Forever.

“Now you tell me something,” Chanyeol says, staring at him.

“What do you want to hear?” Jongin asks.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “Whatever you wanna tell me.”

Jongin leans up a bit, tucks an arm under his chin where he lays on top of Chanyeol.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Jongin says.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says sleepily. “What’s your secret?”

“Do you remember that night I got you drunk?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol groans, remembering the thumping pain in his head the morning after, before Jongin handed him the anti-after, and it disappeared like magic.

“I remember,” Chanyeol says, hands on the small of Jongin’s back. “What about it?”  

“You told me you liked me.”

It immediately jolts Chanyeol out of his peaceful state.

“What?”

Jongin smiles, brushing a finger against Chanyeol’s lips.

“You were so drunk,” Jongin says. “I don’t even think you realized you said it.”

“Oh my god,” Chanyeol says, hands covering his eyes.

“It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” Jongin says. “It felt just like a movie. You told me you wanted to kiss me, that you thought I was pretty.”

“Oh my god,” Chanyeol says, pushing Jongin off of him.

He takes the blanket by the hem and pulls it over his head, until everything is dark, Jongin shaking with laughter beside him.

“ _No,_ ” Jongin says. “No hiding.”

“Yes hiding,” Chanyeol says. “I’m going to go out and dig a hole and bury myself in it.”

“Please,” Jongin says, and he pulls the blanket down slowly, and Chanyeol almost covers his face, but at the last moment, he sees Jongin smile, so he just lays there, willing to accept damnation. If it was for Jongin’s smile, he’d accept anything, he thinks. “If you hadn’t...if you hadn’t said all that stuff, I don’t know if we’d be here right now.”

“Really?” Chanyeol asks.

“Really,” Jongin says. “I don’t know, I just...I hadn’t thought about it, really.”

“About us?” Chanyeol says. “Or about--”

“About any of it,” Jongin says. “I just knew that I really liked you. The way you made me feel. I knew I liked you, but I didn’t know...I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what to call it.”

“Like when you know the definition,” Chanyeol says, “but you forget the word.”

Jongin closes his eyes.

“Yes,” he says.

Chanyeol can’t help himself. He surges up, pushes Jongin flat on the bed and kisses him until that’s the only thing he can think of, thoughts of drunken confessions long forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooo this one was a doozy to write! i dont feel like im particularly good at writing sex, but i feel like its necessary, so here we are 
> 
> regardless of my porn writing abilities, i hope u enjoyed. if u did, please leave kudos or comment and let me know. sometimes its hard to do this sort of thing without a constant stream of positivity, and ive got about none of that in my brain 
> 
> alright. more next tuesday. kick the shit outta this week and grind ur enemies into dust beneath your boot heel. but like, be cute about it. love u muchly ♡


	14. fourteen

He’s been ignoring Sehun again.

“You have to stop him,” Jongin says, pressing buttons at the drink maker as Chanyeol fixes his shirt collar. “He’s started to ping me too.”

“Can’t take a hint,” Chanyeol laughs.

He walks over, laces his arms around Jongin’s waist. He does it now without a second-thought, without hesitation or self-consciousness. He lays a kiss to the back of Jongin’s neck, chaste, before he does it again, mouth open and wet. He licks along his skin, fresh with the morning shower.

“Stop, I can’t focus,” Jongin says, body shaking with a giggle. “Milk?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says as he continues to lick along. “And sucralose.”

“Bad for you,” Jongin tuts, but he pushes his ass back into Chanyeol’s crotch and he moans.

“Everything’s bad for you now,” Chanyeol says, licking along Jongin’s neck.

Jongin spins, kisses Chanyeol firmly as he winds his hold around Chanyeol’s neck. They stand like that, in each other’s spheres as they kiss, until the drink maker chimes.

“Coffee’s done,” Jongin says against Chanyeol’s lips.

“Good,” Chanyeol says, and he takes Jongin in another kiss before Jongin shoves him back playfully by the shoulders.

“Answer him,” Jongin says. “He’s clogging my inbox.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “What do I get for listening?”

Jongin rolls his eyes but cocks his hip.

“Something good,” Jongin says, and his hands glide down his body.

“I’m taking another personal day,” Chanyeol says.

“Get to work,” Jongin laughs.

 

⚠

 

The office is always too quiet, much too quiet to get any personal calls done. Chanyeol constantly feels like someone’s watching him, listening to him, so he waits until work is over. He stands outside in the freezing cold, teeth chattering as he clicks his earpiece and calls Sehun up.

“Hey, what the fuck,” Sehun says. “I thought we agreed we were gonna stop doing this shit. One week, fine. Two weeks, fine. A month? Okay. But just...keep me in the loop, bud.”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says, not meaning it at all. “Just got sort of busy.”

“With what?” Sehun asks.

“Jongin,” Chanyeol says.

“Oh my god,” Sehun says. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, a shiver running through him. “We’re...uh, we’re together.”

“No shit,” Sehun says happily. “Since when?”

“I dunno, about two months ago, I guess?” Chanyeol says.

“Of course,” Sehun says. “Last time I saw you two...about two months ago.”

“We’ve just been busy,” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah,” Sehun says, “I got that. Metalfucker.”

Chanyeol laughs, and Sehun laughs back. He doesn’t know why he isolates himself from Sehun. Just knows that he does it, that he should probably stop. Still, it's easy to get wrapped up in Jongin. Sometimes, Jongin's all he can see. 

“You sound happy,” Sehun says. “I’m glad.”

“I am too,” Chanyeol says.

“Just ping me back sometimes, okay?” Sehun says. “I don’t wanna nag, but I will if I have to.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol smiles. “I gotta get to the train.”

“Go,” Sehun says. “It’s fuckin’ freezing out.”

 

⚠

 

Sunday morning comes, and Chanyeol is lying in bed, watching as Jongin dresses. It’s almost reverent, and Chanyeol admires him from afar, staring as he threads his limbs through his clothing like it’s some form of art.

“You should get up soon,” Jongin teases. “Otherwise you’re going to be late.”

“I’ve never been late before,” Chanyeol says. “They could stand to miss me a little.”

Chanyeol wants to get up, drag Jongin back into bed. Take all his clothes off carefully, just as carefully as they were put on, and then fuck him until he’s a shivering, writhing mess.

“Come back to bed. What are you getting dressed for?” Chanyeol asks.

“I’m gonna go out with Jun this morning while you’re gone,” Jongin says with a smile. “He needs help picking out new clothes.”

Chanyeol’s stomach turns, rolls and boils with fledgling jealousy.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Well, have fun.”

Jongin walks back over to the bed, kisses Chanyeol hard.

“If I see anything I think would look good on you,” Jongin says, stroking a finger along Chanyeol’s cheek, “I’ll bring it back for you.”

That makes Chanyeol smile, but only until Jongin has said his goodbyes, winter boots thumping through the apartment until the door locks behind him.

They could stand to miss him a little, Chanyeol thinks. He goes into the bathtub, misses his appointment entirely.  

 

⚠

 

Jongin is actually the one to invite Sehun over that evening, and Chanyeol hugs Jongin from behind as he flits around the kitchen.

“I wanted you to fuck me,” Chanyeol whines. “And I wanted to shower with you. And I wanted to finish the drama. And I wanted to eat that cake.”

“We can do all that later,” Jongin laughs. “One dinner with Sehun a week will not kill you.”

“It might,” Chanyeol says petulantly. “I only wanna be with you.”

Jongin laughs, continues to wheel Chanyeol around behind him like training wheels. Chanyeol continues to sulk, and he tries his best to goad Jongin into sex, promising him whatever he wants.

“Be good,” Jongin says, and the door buzzes--Sehun to be let in.

Chanyeol huffs.

“Go greet your friend,” Jongin smiles.

“Come with me,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin rolls his eyes, but walks towards the door, lets Chanyeol cling to him obnoxiously.

“Uh, hi,” Sehun says when the door pushes open.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says.

“Hi,” Jongin says. “He won’t let go.”

“That certainly seems to be the case,” Sehun smiles.

Jongin sets plate after plate of food down on the table, and Jongin carries conversation across dinner enough for Chanyeol. It’s good, Chanyeol thinks. Jongin’s good with people in a way that Chanyeol can never remember being, but that’s just another reason Chanyeol loves him.

It’s the kind of love that builds exponentially when you acknowledge it, and he feels himself drowning in it in a way that feels just so right.

“How’s Dr. Kang been going?” Sehun asks.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, momentarily brought out of thought. “Good. Really good.”

“That’s good,” Sehun says as his chopsticks scratch the plate. “Best thing you’ve ever done, I think.”

Chanyeol turns to Jongin, thinks _no,_ the best thing he’s ever done was wake Jongin.

“God,” Sehun says, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t look at him like that while children are present.”

“It’s just you here,” Jongin laughs.

“Exactly,” Sehun says. “My precious eye mods."

 

⚠

 

He lives in the moments when he’s with Jongin, and the rest means little to him. He gets up on Sunday, realizing that he has to go somewhere. Has to do something, so Jongin doesn’t worry.

“Okay,” Jongin says, kissing him on the lips, wrapping his scarf tight around his neck. “Have a good session, baby.”

Chanyeol smiles, walks out the door.

Instead of getting on the skytrain, heading to Dr. Kang’s, he wanders the streets for a couple hours, staring up at the sky, until it’s time to go home. Until it’s time to meet Jongin again.

 

⚠

 

Sehun calls him during the day, and Chanyeol takes his break just to answer. Calls are more serious. Calls are reserved for important things.

“I think we should talk,” Sehun says.

“About what?” Chanyeol asks.

“I have something to say,” Sehun says, “and I think it’d be best to say in person.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, anger flaring in his gut. “Sunday work?”

There’s a knock of silence through Chanyeol’s earpiece, long enough that Chanyeol checks the connection to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. No. Crystal clear.

“What time?” Sehun asks.

“I dunno,” Chanyeol says. “Eleven?”

One more knock of silence, and Chanyeol is desperate to answer it.

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “Okay.”

“I’ll meet you outside,” Chanyeol says. “Bring coffee.”

Sehun huffs out a breath that sounds like a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

 

⚠

 

They walk down to the river in silence, coffee in hand, and Sehun scuffs his shoes along the pavement. They sit on the bank, the ashy soil soft underneath them.

“I thought Sundays were therapy days,” Sehun says carefully.

“I’m not going anymore,” Chanyeol says.

There is silence. Chanyeol looks at Sehun, sees horror on his face for some reason.

“What did you just say?” Sehun asks.

“I’m not going anymore?” Chanyeol says.

“When?” Sehun asks. “When did you stop?”

“Two weeks ago, I guess?” Chanyeol says. “I haven’t really been keeping track.”

“Why?” Sehun asks.

“I’m doing good,” Chanyeol shrugs. “I don’t have anything to talk about anymore, so why would I go?”

Sehun shakes his head, takes another sip of his coffee.

“What?” Chanyeol says.

“Nothing,” Sehun says.

“No, if you wanna say something, then you should say it,” Chanyeol says, feeling unnaturally, uncharacteristically fearless.

Sehun turns, and Chanyeol’s always thought he had a face that could turn mean in an instant; he just never really saw it. But he sees it then, Sehun’s brows slanted in and his eyes burning with anger.

“You’re being a fucking idiot,” Sehun says.

“Why?” Chanyeol says. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re fine,” Sehun scoffs.

“I’m not?” Chanyeol says. “I didn’t know you knew me better than I knew myself.”

“Well, I fucking do,” Sehun says. “And you’re being a fucking idiot about this.”

“How?”

“How many years was it?” Sehun asks. “How many years before we got you to where you were feeling good every day? Not just some days, but every day.”

“ _We_ ,” Chanyeol mocks. “You didn’t do shit.”

Sehun’s face falls from the top of the world, and Chanyeol’s stomach sinks fast. He came prepared for a fight, but he didn’t--he didn’t mean--

“Right. I didn’t do shit, did I?” Sehun says. “You’re right. It’s always been all about you. Since we were fucking kids, it’s always been all about you.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, and he commits to it. “Don’t talk about it like it was my fucking decision. You always wanted to stick your nose in my business.”

“So you’ve told Jongin,” Sehun says, completely ignoring him. “And he’s good with this?”

Chanyeol doesn’t say anything, just stares up at the red sky.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Sehun spits. “So you’re lying to him too, on top of everything else.”

“I’m not lying,” Chanyeol says, but he’s lying even then.

“Listen,” Sehun says calmly, and he takes another sip of his coffee, breath pouring out hot and white as he expels it. “I know you think things are good--”

“Things are good,” Chanyeol says. “And I’m fine.”

“But you don’t know that they’re gonna stay that way,” Sehun says. “Isn’t it better to have someone there who’s prepared? Who knows what to expect in case something happens?”

“So you think I’m always one second away from a relapse,” Chanyeol says. “Great. Glad you think so highly of me.”

“Why are you being like this?” Sehun asks. “Things are good for a _reason_.”

“And that reason is Jongin,” Chanyeol says.

“God,” Sehun says, and he scrubs a hand over his face. “This is so bad. This is _so, so_ bad. And I knew it would get like this, but fuck, Chanyeol.”

“What’s bad about it?” Chanyeol asks. “Why can’t I have someone?”

“It’s not about you having someone,” Sehun says. “It’s about you _needing_ someone.”

“And what’s wrong with needing people?” Chanyeol asks, because really, he doesn’t know.

Sehun sighs. Chanyeol hates it.

“I don’t mean it like that, everybody needs people but,” Sehun says, nail digging into the side of his cup, “it’s--it’s just that you take things too far. You take everything too far.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Thanks.”

“What, do you want me to lie to you?” Sehun asks.

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t want shit from you anymore.”

“You know,” Sehun says, “this is exactly like it was before. This is exactly what you did before. You shoved me away, and then you fucking went off. And then who was there to clean up your fucking mess, Chanyeol? Who was the only person there?”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says. “God, like, will you ever let me live it down? Why do you always have to make everything about the past?”

“Because you keep reliving it,” Sehun says. “And if you wanna keep making the same mistakes over and over again until it fucking kills you, that may be fine for you, but I’m not gonna sit idly by and watch and cheer you on.”

“Why are you doing this?” Chanyeol asks. “Why can’t you just be fucking _happy_ for me?”

Sehun looks at him, appraises him.

“I was, Chanyeol,” Sehun says. “I really was.”

“That’s what it is, huh? You’re fucking jealous,” Chanyeol says. “Because you want to be the only person in my life.”

“Yeah,” Sehun says sadly. “You got me.”

“I know,” Chanyeol says, and he stands up, brushing himself off. “So just stop coming around. Don’t fucking ping me, or Jongin either. Leave us the fuck alone.”

“Alright,” Sehun says, eyes low, looking small as he sits there on the bank of the acid river.

“Just stay away from me,” Chanyeol says, and he commits to it once more, turns his back and walks away. He clicks his ear piece, checks. Almost time to meet Jongin.

 

⚠

 

He walks down the stairs, meets Jongin just a hair earlier than normal.

“Hey,” Jongin says, perking up. “You’re early. How’d it go?”

Trust Jongin to notice everything.

“Went great,” Chanyeol says with a smile, lacing his fingers with Jongin’s when Jongin stretches out his hand. “Ready to go?”

Jongin smiles back, bright white and everything Chanyeol needs. 

"Ready," he says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of a shorter update this week, but hopefully what this one lacks in words, it makes up for it in emotional gut punches 
> 
> we're definitely in the second half of this fic at this point, so do keep in mind that things will get a little more dramatic, a little more angsty as we approach the conclusion. i know that is not everyone's bag, so i just figured i would warn you now! (check the new tag tho! ~angst with a happy ending!~ we love that stuff) 
> 
> as always, you can find me on twitter @wolfsupremacist or at curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist. also, every comment i receive on this story sends my heart ascending to heaven. i personally hand-write your name and "i love you" on a piece of paper and put it in bottle before sending it out to sea. i am the leading cause of pollution on this planet. 
> 
> ok, thats enough for now. have a wonderful week. go get em, tiger (i've always wanted someone to call me tiger, and maybe you've felt the same--now, u have been called tiger. u can do anything u set ur beautiful mind to)


	15. fifteen

Bleach is all he can smell, but he scrubs, hands and knees, until the floor is shining, so clean that they could eat off it if they really wanted to.

He scrubs the walls as well, all the fixtures in the bathroom until everything gleams brightly, almost blinding in its cleanliness.

When Jongin opens the door, Chanyeol is leaning back against the bathtub, eyes closed.

“Hey,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol takes a deep breath of fresh air before he opens his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” Chanyeol smiles.

“Oh,” Jongin says, smiling back for a second before he looks down. “Chanyeol, oh my god.”

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin kneels down alongside him, takes Chanyeol’s hands in his. That’s when Chanyeol actually notices.

“Baby,” Jongin says with concern as he looks over the blistering skin. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to get things clean,” Chanyeol says.

“Well, you did a good job,” Jongin says, looking around for a second, “but you hurt yourself.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Chanyeol smiles, looking down at the gentle way Jongin holds him, the way his fingers dance along Chanyeol’s.

“Stay right here,” Jongin says. “I’ll get the hydrogels.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Are you gonna patch me all up?”

“Yes,” Jongin says as he stands, clapping his hands together. “No more cleaning for you.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin leaves, and Chanyeol watches him go, staring at the vacant space within the door-frame until he returns, the hydrogels in his hands. He kneels down in front of Chanyeol, takes Chanyeol’s hands in his.

“Be more careful, silly,” Jongin says, deftly applying the gels that smartly form to his knuckles, instantly cooling and grafting.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, but he can’t say he minds this: he loves when Jongin takes care of him.

 

⚠

 

His shift manager comes over, and he barely notices, still typing rapidly at his touch screen. He shifts and drags the lines once they’re where they should be. It builds up on his screens, the ones that envelop him, and he can lose himself so easily like this, and it’s hard to get out, hard to see anything besides the need to keep going.

“Chanyeol,” the manager says, shaking him by the shoulder, only barely hard enough to get him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” Chanyeol asks, taking off his glasses, the numbers fading blue in his peripherals.

“You’re going too fast,” he says. “You need to slow down a bit.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “Will do.”

“We appreciate the effort,” the manager says, “but you’re making too much progress too quickly.”

Chanyeol slips his glasses back on, already back to work. He barely notices when the manager slips away, off to advise someone else.

 

⚠

 

The apartment is empty when he returns, and he looks through all the rooms just to check. He looks in Jongin’s room, and he’s struck by how empty it looks. Most of his stuff has been steadily moved into Chanyeol’s room, occupying space that once stood empty, taking half of Chanyeol’s bed for his own. Chanyeol smiles thinking about it, about how willing he is to share it.

He clicks his earpiece, and the call is transferred.

The noise is raucous.

“Chanyeol?” Jongin answers, yelling to hear himself.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says, momentarily nervous for Jongin. “Where are you?”

“I left you a mail,” Jongin says. “Didn’t you check it?”

“No,” Chanyeol says. “I just got back.”

“It’s Mirae’s wakeday,” Jongin says. “So we’re celebrating.”

Chanyeol frowns. If Mirae is there, then Seojun is there, and if Seojun is there, then Chanyeol has a problem.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says.

“Is that okay?” Jongin asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Whatever you want.”

“Sorry, I,” Jongin says, and then his side of the call goes a lot quieter. Suddenly, Chanyeol can understand him a lot more clearly, much of the racket left behind. “I didn’t leave anything for dinner.”

“That’s fine,” Chanyeol says, and he rubs his arms, shivering. “It’s fine, I can get something for myself.”

“No, you should--you should come out,” Jongin says.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Chanyeol says.

“You wouldn’t be interrupting,” Jongin says softly. “I miss you. I wanted to...I wanted to leave to come see you, but I felt bad since it means a lot to Mirae.”

That settles Chanyeol’s stomach considerably, even though he had barely noticed the bile rising in him. He swallows, closes his eyes.

“Where are you?” Chanyeol asks.

“I’ll ping you the information,” Jongin says. “Get here quick so I can hug you.”

Chanyeol smiles, shoves his feet back into his boots.

“On my way,” he says.

 

⚠

 

It’s bitterly cold, the type that stings your lips and freezes the snot in your nose. Chanyeol sniffs as he steps off the train, the ice in the air biting at him as soon as the wind hits. He shoves his hands in his coat-pocket, keeps his head down as he walks, tries not to look at people who dance through the streets like it’s summer, heat rising in the blood.

It’s the first time he’s been in this neighborhood alone since the real breakdown, and even though it was so long ago, he can still feel like it like it’s happening all around him, all the time. It sits on his skin like sweat, the memory of it. He wasn’t taking good care of himself, he was thin enough that you could see his ribs, his lips were starting to peel white and bloody red. It’s been a long time. But sometimes he still misses the taste. It shivers through him then, the thought of it.

He finds the club and waits in the line, and it’s long even though it’s a week day. A man whose face is darkened with shadow stands against the wall, posted up and scanning. Chanyeol knows that look. He’s looking for weak points. For links in the fence that will wobble and come loose with a little prod.

It hits hard when the man’s gaze finally lands on him.

“Need anything?” the guy asks. “I got everything. Whips. Slush. You want it, you got it.”

“Nah,” Chanyeol says, trying to keep his eyes forward. “I’m good.”

“You sure?” he asks. “I got honey too. Not many people have the flavors I have.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, even though the pull in his stomach is warm, “I don’t really do that stuff anymore.”

“You sure?” the guy asks. “When’s the last time you had a hit?”

“Long time ago,” Chanyeol says, and the pull in his stomach gets him to step out of line, leaned against the wall to talk to the man.

“There’s a new blend,” the guy says, tantalizing, and his lips aren’t cracked, but they’re dry, thin. Not plush and full like Jongin’s.

“Oh yeah?” Chanyeol says, biting his lip, the saliva making him chatter his teeth as the wind blows by.

“Yeah,” he says. “Strawberry. Makes girls super wet.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “That’s, uh…”

“You can fuck for hours,” the guy says. “It’s crazy. Me and my girlfriend stayed up for two days straight with just one hit each.”

Chanyeol lets his mind wander with that one: the covers around them, building them in. Licking at the inside of Jongin’s thighs, kissing him so deep and hard that they can’t taste anything besides each other. Planting himself in Jongin’s skin. Carving out space. Unable to be scratched out.

“I can’t,” Chanyeol says.

“Can’t,” the man smiles, “or shouldn’t?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Chanyeol turns, and he sees Seojun stalking over to him. By the time he turns back around, the dealer is gone, slinking off into the shadows.

He notices that the line is gone when Seojun grabs him by the shoulder, wheels him around. Did they talk for longer than Chanyeol realized? He didn’t think he lost track of time but maybe he did, maybe it slipped right past him.

“Get your hands off me,” Chanyeol says.

“Whoa,” Seojun says, hands up. “Relax.”

“You fuckin’ relax,” Chanyeol says.

“What are you doing out here anyway?”

“I was coming in.”

“Yeah,” Seojun scoffs. “Sure.”

“What?” Chanyeol says. “I was.”

“Listen,” Seojun says. “I don’t like you. You don’t like me. You know I don’t like you, and I know you don’t like me. So let’s cut to the chase here.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he balls his fists tight.

“If you’re gonna get back on that shit,” Seojun says, stepping forward, “then leave Jongin the fuck out of it.”

Chanyeol takes a step forward.

“Or what?” Chanyeol asks. “Or you’re gonna take him?”

“Yeah,” Seojun says. “I am.”

Chanyeol grinds his teeth in his mouth, fingers itching.

“He deserves someone who has their fucking shit together,” Seojun says. “Who can fucking handle themselves. Who isn’t all fucked up all the time.”

Chanyeol rears back before Seojun can react, and he hooks him square in the jaw. Right hand. Hard as he can. Seojun’s eyes go up in his head for a moment, the whites of his eyes as big as the fuckin’ moon, before he catches himself, stumbles, cursing.

“What the _f-fuck,_ ” Seojun says. “You fucking _psychopath_.”

“Stay away from me,” Chanyeol says, and he’s crying as he turns away.

He sprints away, and even the dazed party-goers are disturbed by him, shooting him looks as he runs past them, shoves past them.

It’s five kilometers back to the apartment building, but he doesn’t stop once, tears and sweat in his eyes like gasoline in his engine.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol hears when Jongin comes home, but he’s in bed, so he doesn’t see it. He just lays there, stares at the ceiling. Counts in his head. One, two, three.

Jongin pushes through the door, eyes wild. Chanyeol immediately turns his back to the door, not even sparing a glance.

“What happened?”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Talk to me.”

Jongin sits on the side of the bed, space between them unbearable. Chanyeol curls in on himself.

“Baby.”

He reaches out, touches Chanyeol’s calf through the blankets. His hand is warm. He must be using his coat. The pockets are heated.

“He said you hit him.”

Chanyeol feels his stomach begin to ache.

“Did you?”

Chanyeol can feel Jongin’s eyes at the back of his head, so he answers with a nod. He feels Jongin move, the bed dipping as Jongin moves to lie along the curve of Chanyeol’s body, chin tucked over Chanyeol’s shoulder.

“Why would you hit him?” he asks.

“I don’t like him,” Chanyeol says.

Silence stretches on, but Jongin’s weight on him feels good, feels right, so he relaxes into it. Lets Jongin calm him, the way a mother would a child. He cards his fingers through Chanyeol’s hair, scratches his scalp and the nape of his neck with his soft fingernails. Chanyeol shuts his eyes, hums as Jongin gets him pliant.

“You told me you did,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol breathes in.

“I lied,” he says.

Jongin waits to give his response, and Chanyeol tries to be patient, but only ends up burrowing further into the bed. Jongin sighs.  

“Why would you lie?” he asks.

“You know he likes you, right?” Chanyeol says. “ _Loves_ you?”  

“Did he...did he say something?”

“Yeah, he told me a lot.”

Silence. On and on.

“I know,” Jongin says. “I just hoped you could be friends. Friendly, at least.”

“I tried. I really tried,” Chanyeol says, and he finally turns to face Jongin. He looks ethereal, otherworldly in his beauty. He’s done up, hair in messy dark curls that make him look angelic, white gold and bronze dusted over his skin. It’s beautiful enough to bring him to tears, and he whines. “You believe me, right?”

“Ah, I believe you,” Jongin says, hushing him, holding him close. “Don’t cry, okay? It’s alright.”

For a split second, Chanyeol’s mind runs with what could have happened. The other, endless possibilities of this night. What if Jongin saw Chanyeol, standing there with the dealer? What if Jongin sided with Seojun? What if Jongin had went home to him instead of Chanyeol? What if it’s ending? What if it’s already ended, and Chanyeol is just fruitlessly clinging to nothing?

“Shh, baby. Stop. I’m not gonna talk to him anymore,” Jongin whispers, wiping away Chanyeol’s tears. “It’s okay.”

“Because of me?” Chanyeol asks.

“Because of me,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol’s heart sinks a bit. “I told him to be good to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says. “I’m sorry. I am.”  

“I know, I know. But you need to talk to Dr. Kang about this,” Jongin says. “You can’t just ignore it.”

“I won’t,” Chanyeol promises. “I won’t.”

 

⚠

 

He meets Jongin at the same place. Same as always. There’s only cold comfort in the schedule now, pissing time away until he can go meet Jongin again.

“How’d it go?” he asks carefully, hands reaching out to hold Chanyeol’s. His bracelet jingles as he moves, and Chanyeol smiles at the sound.

“It went well,” Chanyeol says, and he starts to pull Jongin off into the underground, but Jongin holds his ground.

“What did she say?” Jongin asks. “When you told her?”

“She, uh,” Chanyeol stalls as he thinks, “she told me I shouldn’t have resorted to physical violence. And, uh, she gave me some exercises.”

“Exercises?” Jongin asks, head tilted to the side.

“Breathing and stuff,” Chanyeol says. “To calm me down.”

“Oh,” Jongin says. “That’s smart.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I think so.”

“We’ll keep working on it,” Jongin says with a smile, squeezing Chanyeol’s hand in his. “But for now, let’s go get you some food.”

 

⚠

 

They are wrapped around each other. Mind, body. Heart. The warmth is endless, eternal, and Chanyeol crests, overlooking their forever for a moment before tumbling back to the ground, gloriously sated. Hot with Jongin’s touch.

They lay in each other’s embrace, content, kissing each other back and forth. Casual. Sweet.

Jongin kisses Chanyeol’s nose.

Chanyeol dots the high points of Jongin’s cheek with pecks. One. Two. Three. Four.

Jongin closes his eyes. Chanyeol closes his too. It’s a restful moment. Pleasant. Chanyeol gets lost in it when he shouldn’t.

“When you got me,” Jongin asks, “this isn’t all you wanted from me, was it?”

Chanyeol is thrown back, physically moved by the question. They’re still in bed. The sheets are still damp with his sweat. There is hurt written plainly on Jongin’s pretty face, the ones and zeros of it. _How do I make it go away,_ Chanyeol wonders. _How do I make the love of my life know?_

“No,” he says. “God, no.”

“Really?” Jongin asks.

“Really,” Chanyeol says. “What...what makes you say that?”

“Just something Seojun said,” Jongin says.

“I...I was--I don’t even know, I just…”

“It’s okay,” Jongin says, and he reaches out, caps Chanyeol’s shoulder in his palm.

“I just didn’t want to be alone anymore,” Chanyeol says pitifully.

There’s so much warmth in those dark brown eyes: unfathomable, impossible warmth.

“Baby,” Jongin says.

And then Chanyeol is being hauled into Jongin’s arms.

“I believe you,” Jongin says. “Not everyone is as lucky as me.”

 _You’ve got it all wrong,_ Chanyeol thinks. _Not everyone is as lucky as_ **_me_** **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even tho i think authors intent is essentially meaningless, i want to be clear in these notes that i wanted to portray a worst-case scenario here. i dont think that all mentally ill people are dangerous, nor do i think all mentally ill people are violent. however, unchecked, untreated mental illness can affect us (and the people around us) in impressively harmful ways. i know it could be upsetting to read as these things play out, as mental illness is usually the scapegoat excuse for people who are physically violent, but i just wanted to make sure everyone knew how i felt. i’ll always try my best to be careful and tactful when dealing w these sensitive issues. 
> 
> that being said, thanks for reading and have a good week


	16. sixteen

Jongin is all smiles, and something about it starts making Chanyeol sick.

How could he think that? How could he even get close to thinking it? There’s something sick within him, something like that disease they used to talk about. Growth that infects. Mutates. Spreads. The only thing that can never die is death, and it’s eating him, eating away at him. Necrosis. That’s all it is. That’s all _he_ is.  

Chanyeol watches from bed, head resting atop his folded arm. Jongin is pretty. There’s nothing ugly about him. There’s a deep rose blush at his cheeks, and he’s golden tan, even in the heart of the long winter. He combs his hair back, and the new shave at the side is prominent. He looks like something out of a high fashion mag, something walking down runways, something projected into the skies and onto buildings. Elegant.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” Jongin asks. “I promise he won’t be there.”

Seojun isn’t the problem. There’s always gonna be someone like him, Chanyeol figures: someone who wants Jongin, wants his attention. But they’ll never want it more than Chanyeol. Never.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I’m sure.”

 _But why aren’t I enough for you?,_ Chanyeol thinks. He can’t stop thinking it lately; these days, it’s blooming like stubborn weeds in between blocks of concrete. But he could never say it, never aloud. Could never vocalize something so childish and petty. Cancer in his brain. In his mouth.

“I’ll be back before morning,” Jongin says. “I just gotta make sure Mirae doesn’t try drinking again. Jimin just stands there and watches her and laughs.”

“Yeah?” Chanyeol smiles, perfunctory.

“Yeah,” Jongin says with a laugh. “They’re silly, sometimes.”

Silly, but Jongin loves them.

_Does he love me?_

Chanyeol wonders.

He says he loves him.

Love is so easy to lie about.

Chanyeol watches Jongin carefully as he walks out with a wave and a blown kiss, and then Chanyeol goes to the bathroom, runs himself a bath. Thinks about letting himself slip, slip, slip under the water. What would he think then? Chanyeol wonders.

 

⚠

 

Weeks go by, and he’s trying to swallow down the feelings. Choke them down like vita. Chemical citrus and chalky.

He’s being crazy. He’s being stupid. Who is he jealous of? Seojun? Mirae? Some nameless face that he thinks Jongin may go to in the dark hours, their sweat pouring onto him? Marking him? It’s enough to consume him. He thinks about it all day long. Who holds Jongin when Chanyeol is not there to hold him?

“Baby,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol turns.

Jongin folds his arms over his bare chest, pads into the living area. His hair's a mess. Chanyeol smiles at the sight, and Jongin sleepily returns it.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, baby,” Jongin says, reaching a fist to his eye to rub the sleep away. “What are you doing?”

Chanyeol turns back to his game, slides his hand through the air to unpause the stage.

“Just...couldn’t sleep,” Chanyeol says as he controls his player. “Had to get my mind off things.”

Jongin comes up behind him, sleep warm like blood moves in him. He hugs Chanyeol from behind, and it’s calming. He closes his eyes, hears the noises of loss in his level.

“Get your mind off what?” Jongin asks, lips against Chanyeol’s neck. Chanyeol blinks through the honey.

_Everything, everything._

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says. “I’m getting tired.”

“Okay,” Jongin says, and he swipes through the air. Shuts the game down. Leads Chanyeol back to bed. “Sleep with me, alright?”

“Alright,” Chanyeol says.

 

⚠

 

Someone taps him on the shoulder, and he wheels around fast, arm raised, poised to strike.

“Woah,” his manager says. “Sorry, I just--”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says. “Sorry, you...you scared me.”

The manager frowns.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, apologetic.

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol says. “C-can I help you?”

“Chanyeol,” his manager says. “I have to talk to you about your performance lately.”

He strips off his glasses, places them on his desk, folds his hands in his lap.

“My performance?” Chanyeol asks. “Is there something wrong?”

“I know you’ve been going through something lately,” his manager says carefully, like he’s worried that shaking the table will set Chanyeol off, “and I don’t make it a point to comment on that. It’s your business.”

 _It is my business,_ Chanyeol thinks angrily, but he just barely bites down on his bottom lip quickly enough to stop that from leaking out the sides of his mouth.

“But it’s been affecting your work,” he says. “And I’ve been more than happy to cover for you, you’re a good man. Your heart is in the right place.”

“But…” Chanyeol says.

“But I can’t keep this up. _You_ can’t keep this up,” he says. “You have to slow down. You have to start checking the codes. It’s leading to errors further down the line, and it’s really slowing down the process because right now, instead of just passing your code along, I have to filter it through one of the other coders first.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says, and he rubs at his jaw. It’s starting to hurt with all the clenching, the grinding of his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” his manager says. “I didn’t want to have to bring this up.”

“No,” Chanyeol says. “If I’m doing a bad job, then tell me. Fire me.”

“Chanyeol,” the manager says.

“I’m serious,” Chanyeol says, and he is on the brink. The edge of it all. He is staring into nothing, the great wide expanse of it. 

“It’s not that you’re doing poorly,” he says. “It’s just that you’ve been a bit...I don’t know how to say it.”

“Just say it,” Chanyeol orders.

“You’ve been a bit careless,” his manager says.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says, and he stands up, pushing past his manager and throwing on his coat and walking off towards the sliding door. Flick of the wrist. “I’m gonna go for my break.”

He barely gets outside, down to the sad little alley with dirty concrete, the glittering letters of graffiti surrounding him, shimmering slick with ligraf-paint and crushed glass, before he collapses to the ground, falling to his knees as angry tears fall from his eyes. Staining the street black, black.

He shakes and gasps out as he sobs, cries of pain torn from him, ripped from his throat. He doesn’t know why he cries, why he trembles, why everything hurts so badly.

It’s all starting to fall down around him. That’s what it feels like. Like things are crumbling in his hands, like he can’t hold shit together. He has the nearly overwhelming urge to ping Sehun, to tell him to bring liquor and nip tonight, to ask him if they can smoke and drink and figure this shit out together, and he even goes so far as to raise his hand to his ear.

But then he remembers. He cut Sehun off. And he can’t walk that back. Not like before. This isn’t like before. He said worse shit. He was meaner. And that’s fine. That’s what he wants. He doesn’t need anything from him.

He just needs Jongin.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol goes home, and the streets melt the snow down to grey slush that he kicks through as he walks back to the building, zipping up through the elevator and rubbing his eyes. He looks like shit, he’s sure, but he doesn’t care about any of that.

Jongin meets him at the door.

“Hey,” he says, taking Chanyeol’s bag.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, and he steps on the back of his boot in order to slip out of it.

“Are you alright?” Jongin asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol sniffs. “Fine.”

They eat in silence, the type Chanyeol wishes he could break with something sweet, something funny, something that would make Jongin laugh. He can’t remember what it’s like doing that. He wishes he could taste that again, sweet crystals of sugar on his tongue.

“Let’s watch something,” Jongin says, and he scratches his nails against Chanyeol’s scalp, letting Chanyeol roll his head back into the affection. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, closing his eyes. “You pick.”

Jongin walks over, barefoot and as beautiful as always, and Chanyeol watches him covetously. Sometimes he doesn’t know if he wants to keep him or if he wants to be him, or if it’s some terrible combination of the two.

Jongin sits on the couch, legs kicked up, a smile tossed back at Chanyeol.

“Coming?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

He can’t focus on the show, even though it’s one of his favorites, something Jongin surely did to cheer him up. Jongin holds him in an embrace, and it’s comforting, but he can’t quiet his own thoughts. Can’t escape himself. _How sad,_ he thinks, _that the only person in my life that will stay forever is me._

“I need to talk to you about something,” Jongin says quietly as their program reaches its conclusion.

The pit of Chanyeol’s stomach drops out. He knows. He _knows_. And this is the end, the thing he was always dreading. He hopes it’s quick. Painless.

“I called Sehun today,” Jongin says.

The breathe he was holding pushes out of him.

“Yeah?” Chanyeol says.

“You fought?” Jongin asks.

“Is that what he said?” Chanyeol asks.

“No,” Jongin says, and he tightens his arm around Chanyeol. “He said to ask you.”

He needs to choose his words carefully. Selectively.

“We didn’t fight,” Chanyeol says. “We’ve just outgrown each other.”

Jongin doesn’t say anything, long enough that Chanyeol looks up to see his face. And he wears a frown.

“What?”

“Are you sure you didn’t fight?” Jongin asks. “He sounded upset about it.”

Chanyeol swallows that down too, but it coats the back of his throat on the way, uncomfortable and sticky like mucus.

“It was a mutual thing,” Chanyeol says. “We’re fine.”

Jongin doesn’t trust him. Doesn’t believe him. Chanyeol can see it in his fucking face, but he doesn’t say anything. Just takes him to bed. Holds him. Kisses him softly.

The blankets are wrapped around them like a noose, and Chanyeol would take the hanging now if he could.  

 

⚠

 

He dances every night. Almost every night. Chanyeol can’t tell, all the days bleed together like watercolors.

“Hey,” Jongin breathes, unwrapping the scarf from around his neck. His cheeks are red with the cold, and he’s gorgeous. Utterly fucking beautiful.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says, and he crosses to him. Kisses him hard. Smells the perfumes and colognes of others. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol slides his fingertips down Jongin’s neck. “Ah. Tickles.”

Chanyeol smiles as they go to bed together. They take their clothes off and lay as close together as two people can. He can still do this right, he thinks. He still has this. 

 

⚠

 

He slips out of bed once Jongin is asleep, and he clutches at his abdomen. He feels like his intestines are about to spill out of him. He feels cut down the middle. He feels about ready to burst out of his skin. Flayed. Vivisected. Gutted.

Chanyeol can’t catch his breath, can’t relax. Can’t breathe, can’t--

Kneeling at the foot of the toilet, he empties his stomach with three great heaves, coughing violently as he retches. He spits, strings of saliva still clinging to his lips. and he washes his mouth with water from the tap.

He prods at the screen of the shower, stripping himself of his clothes as he does it. Seams rip as he carelessly pulls himself out, only barely stepping out of his pants before he gets into the cold water, letting it shock through him as he sinks to the floor. Teeth chattering, trying to hold it all in.

He’s always been alone. He’ll always be alone.

The door opens. And Chanyeol looks at him, at beautiful, lovely Jongin, with watery eyes as Jongin scrambles to his knees.

“Baby,” Jongin says. He grabs Chanyeol by the hand. “What’s wrong, baby?”

The tiles are slippery wet, but Jongin hauls him into his arms under the spray of the shower anyway.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” Chanyeol says, and he’s barely able to hold the tears in his eyes, welling at the corners, ready to spill out.

“What do you mean, baby, huh?” Jongin asks, and he brushes a careful hand through Chanyeol’s wet hair. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “I just...I thought things were going so good.”

“They are,” Jongin says, and he means it as reassurance, but to Chanyeol, it feels like a knife in the stomach. “They are, it’s okay.”

“I know,” Chanyeol says. “I know. I feel...I just feel--”

“What do you feel?” Jongin asks.

“I feel…” Chanyeol starts, and God, if he could just force the words out, he would, but he can’t. And he feels right back where he fucking started. Fucking hopeless. It’s been a year, almost a calendar year since he got Jongin, since he started trying to change, and what does he have to show for it? Nothing. Just like always.

“Baby,” Jongin says as the tears start to stream down Chanyeol’s face. “Talk to me, baby. It’s okay.”

“I just--I just don’t feel good,” Chanyeol says, and he licks his lip, tastes watered down salt.

“It’s okay,” Jongin says. “It’s okay to not feel good sometimes.”

 _It’s creeping back,_ Chanyeol says. _It’s coming back. I thought it was over, but it’s back. And I’ll never escape from it._

“I thought I was past it,” Chanyeol says. “Things are finally good, so why am I still like this?”

Sehun was right. Sehun’s always right about Chanyeol. He’s gonna be stuck in this forever, clinging to his ankles. Dead weight. He’s always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. He’s fucking everything up. Always.

But Jongin smiles at him, gentle, soft, and it reminds Chanyeol of when they first met. Chanyeol closes his eyes, shuts them tight. Tries to remember what it was like. It feels so long ago. So distant that he can't even see it. 

“I don’t think this is the sort of thing where you move past it, at least not entirely,” Jongin says. “I think this is the sort of thing you learn to live with. That you learn to cope with.”

“I don’t want that,” Chanyeol says.

“I know, baby,” Jongin says, and he knocks his forehead against Chanyeol’s. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends! gosh it feels like forever!! sorry about missing the update last week: i very much didn't want to take the week off, but i had to deal with a medical emergency that made it like, almost impossible to write. i feel very bad about it, but hey, that is life i suppose. 
> 
> i always let ppl know about changes to the update schedule on my twitter (@wolfsupremacist), so u can follow me there if that's something u would like know about. 
> 
> i hope all my american friends voted today! there's still time @west coast! 
> 
> finally, i am trying very hard to be positive today in the face of overwhelmingly negative energy! so if i can do it, you can too! let's be strong for each other, ok? ♡ this too shall pass ♡ (stream THIS TOO SHALL PASS by OK GO for clear skin!) ♡


	17. seventeen

You are never prepared for the day when everything changes. You don’t have it tracked in your earpiece. M doesn’t remind you that it’s coming. There’s no warning. You aren’t aware. You aren’t ready. On the day when everything changes, you are just you. And things just happen. The world spins, and you are just you.

“Call me,” Jongin’s voice says, angry. “Immediately.”

He stews in it at his desk for a couple moments. There is nothing else it could be. He sucks in air, expels it. He goes to the clock, flashes his wrist, and heads downstairs to the alley. The floors flicker past him on the elevator, flashes of light blinding him before he steps into the mid-afternoon dimness of the day. For a minute, he takes the opportunity to be thankful for the lack of light, even so early.

He reaches into his pocket, fiddles with a nic-patch before slapping it on his neck. He was smart to buy a pack. It was something he did more in the beginning of his sobriety, but he’s needed them lately.

The relief seeps into his skin, into his blood, and he takes a deep breath in. Lets the cloudy, polluted air fill his lungs until he’s forced to cough it back out. Before he loses his nerve, he clicks his earpiece, says “Jongin,” and waits.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin answers.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says. “I’m on my break.”

“Okay,” Jongin says, and he sounds distraught. Upset. Chanyeol did that to him, and it sticks him in the gut. But it’s silly. It is. He doesn’t need therapy. He doesn’t. “Can you come home right away after work? No stops or anything? We need to talk about it.”

“About what?” Chanyeol asks.

A beat. And another. Chanyeol’s heart races, thumps like crazy in his neck. He can feel it. He can hear it in his fucking ears. Pulsing.

“You’re not stupid,” Jongin says. “You knew I’d find out eventually.”

 _Yes_ , Chanyeol thinks. _I knew._

In a small part of him, tucked down deep in muscle tissue, he had hoped that Jongin would be supportive of this decision. Not immediately upset by it. He hoped too much.

“No stops,” Chanyeol says.

“Do you promise?” Jongin says, and his suggestion lies there thick over Chanyeol: _you’ve been lying. Did you think that would go unnoticed? Did you think I would be okay with it? Did you think a deliberate breach of trust could be swept away like street ash?_

“I promise,” Chanyeol says, and for the first time in a while, he means it.

 

⚠

 

“You stopped going to therapy?” Jongin asks, hurt.

Chanyeol hasn’t even gotten his shoes off, scarf still tucked tight around his neck. He unwinds it, hangs it where it belongs. Takes his boots off slowly.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, bent over and staring at the laces. “Because I’ve got you.”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol stands up straight and really takes a good look at Jongin. He looks so worried, so fruitlessly nervous. Chanyeol wants to wipe it all away.

“What?” Chanyeol says. “It’s true.”

“You should go back,” Jongin says.

Thoughts start pouring in like river water, acetic and sludgy, and they’re all _why_. Why doesn’t Jongin want to take care of him? Why does Jongin want so badly for him to go back to something that never really helped in the first place? Wasn’t all the hard work done by Jongin? Why won’t he take credit for the ways he helped?

“We’re fine,” Chanyeol says, and he gathers Jongin in his arms. “Aren’t we?”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says, whines even as he buries his face in Chanyeol’s neck. “We’re not fine. Just last week—“

“We’re fine,” Chanyeol says, a hand on the back of Jongin’s neck. “We are.”

“We’re not. You aren’t thinking clearly,” Jongin says, but Chanyeol has him in his arms. They must be fine. They must be.

 

⚠

 

It would be an understatement to call the next several days tense. Chanyeol is not blind, nor is he deaf, and he can feel Jongin’s concern bleeding in. He’s everywhere, looking over Chanyeol’s shoulder. Watching him carefully. Analyzing everything. He stares like he’s trying to figure Chanyeol out. Figure out what are truths and what are lies. It’s bad in the mornings. It’s bad over dinner. It’s bad in the sleepy quiet, in the dead of night when Jongin is wrapped around him.

They hold each other in the steam of the shower, and Jongin brushes wet hair away from Chanyeol’s face.

“Please,” Chanyeol says, voice echoing. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” Jongin says. “I’m worried.”

“You have no reason to be worried,” Chanyeol says.

“I have every reason to be worried,” Jongin says, and he leans in, presses a kiss to Chanyeol’s collarbone.

“I’m doing well now,” Chanyeol says. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

Jongin pulls out of the embrace, stares at Chanyeol with watery eyes.

“How can you forget things so easily?” Jongin asks.

“Forget what?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin shakes his head, wipes his tear away.

“You’re going to resent me if I try and make you do something you don’t want to do, so this is the last time I’m going to ask,” Jongin says, “please. Go back. See her again.”

For some reason, it is quite easy to brush Jongin’s tears off, dust from the tops of cabinets, from forgotten shelves.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Chanyeol says, and he takes Jongin in his arms. “But for now, isn’t this good?”

He hears, feels Jongin’s sigh. Broken resolve. Chanyeol smiles.

 

⚠

 

Jongin isn’t there when he gets home, so Chanyeol finds dinner for himself. He eats on the couch, lonely with the lights down low. He considers pinging Jongin as he stares at the wall after his dishes are washed. He missed him. Misses him.

The night passes, and he is alone. He showers, frowning, and he retires to bed, slipping restlessly into midnight.

When Jongin slides into bed next to him, it is still barely night.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says sleepily.

“Hi,” Jongin whispers. “Go back to bed.”

“I missed you,” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah,” Jongin replies, and he turns over in bed, his back to Chanyeol.

Chanyeol lets his eyes shut again, hoping that by morning, Jongin has forgiven him. The rising sun will wash things clean, he’s sure of it.

 

⚠

 

He thought it might take a while for Jongin to come around. He didn’t know it would take this long.

Nerves start firing, hot and burning under his skin.

“I...how was your day?” Chanyeol asks, chopstick scraping against the plate as he pushes his pasta around.

Jongin is slow to answer, staring off in the middle distance. He’s beautiful, he’s always beautiful. Chanyeol wants to put him under glass.

“Jongin?” Chanyeol prompts.

He snaps to attention, and Chanyeol has never seen him so lost in thought before. Is it really that bad? Has he really screwed up that much?

“Sorry,” Jongin says, but he doesn’t say anything more.

Chanyeol struggles to fill the silence for the rest of the meal, suddenly choked by the quiet.

 

⚠

 

He is desperate, and he hasn’t felt this desperate since he first started visiting the shop window, staring up at the holograms, staring up at the lifeless display Kais. He can feel Jongin slipping through his fingers, and he’s frantic. He wants to dig his nails into the flesh that isn’t flesh. He wants to sink his teeth into Jongin’s shoulder and never let go.

Chanyeol doesn’t know how to keep him. Only knows how to please him.

It’s Sunday, and while the thought of where Jongin wants him to be probably sits heavily in the forefront of Jongin’s mind, Chanyeol knows what to do. Distract him. Make him remember why he fell in love with Chanyeol.

He struggles to press the button for the door with his hands full, tries several times before giving up, huffing a stupid breath.

“M, open door,” Chanyeol says, and the door slides open, revealing the bedroom.

Chanyeol creeps in slowly, sets the tray full of food down at the foot of the large bed, and grabs Jongin’s teddy bear from the side of the room. He sets it down next to Jongin, right where Chanyeol would lay.

He gets on the bed, sits right next to where Jongin slumbers quietly. He touches him on the shoulder and lets his hand trail down the soft, bare skin of his arm. Jongin wakes, and it is just as precious as it was the very first time.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says softly. “I made you breakfast.”

“What?” Jongin asks sleepily.

“I made breakfast for you,” Chanyeol says.

“You don’t cook,” Jongin says.

“I watch you cook, though,” Chanyeol says, smiling.

Jongin sits up in bed, and he stretches, something indescribably elegant in the way he tenses and relaxes, a pretty grin on his face. Like it was a good way to wake. Chanyeol wraps his arms around him, relieved when Jongin wraps his arms around Chanyeol in return.

“Mm,” Jongin says, looking over Chanyeol’s shoulder. “You did good.”

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says softly, and he kisses Jongin’s neck, listens to the moan that ensues.

Jongin pulls back, gently extracts himself, a furrow in his brow.

“Why are you doing this?” Jongin asks.

“Do I have to have a reason to be good to you?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin’s face softens, and he relaxes back into the bed.

“I guess not,” Jongin says, crossing his legs before grabbing a slice of soy butter toast off the tray. “Thank you.”

“No,” Chanyeol says, and he leans down to press a kiss to Jongin’s hair. “Thank you.”

 

⚠

 

The capsule breaks, and then air is purple and gold, glittering, the scent of rose all around them. Chanyeol leans back, the water splashing as he moves.

“Mm,” Jongin says, and he lets Chanyeol rest against him in the bath, fingers dancing along Chanyeol’s arms. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Really nice.”

“I still--”

Chanyeol turns.

“You still?”

Jongin smiles, shakes his head.

“Ah,” he says. “Never mind.”

“Are you sure?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin takes Chanyeol’s chin in his hand. Kisses him. It’s been a long week. Chanyeol has been trying his best to show Jongin the love he deserves. Showering him with praise, showing him how much he cares. To be rewarded with something as delicious as this...he tangles his tongue with Jongin’s, relishing it.

“I’m sure. For tonight, at least,” Jongin says, and he pulls Chanyeol back again. Chanyeol closes his eyes. Breathes in the flowers.

 

⚠

 

The morning light is artificial, but Jongin wears it well all the same, pretty and bronze along his spine. His musculature is relaxed, and it looks like clay to mold, so Chanyeol touches him carefully. Rolls the flesh in his hands. Listens for the little sound of pleasure.

Jongin turns over, and when Chanyeol focuses on his right eye, he can almost see through the brown of his iris. He imagines the wires underneath. So small he could barely see them with his own eyes.

Jongin pulls Chanyeol across the bed, hand on the back of Chanyeol’s neck. Jongin tastes like mint, the way he always does. Chanyeol can’t say the same for himself.

“I’ll go brush my teeth,” he says against Jongin’s mouth.

“No,” Jongin says. “I like knowing you’re real.”

Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut, bumps his forehead into Jongin’s.

“You’re just as real as me,” Chanyeol whispers.

“If you cracked me open, you wouldn’t get blood and bones,” Jongin whispers back.

“Stop,” Chanyeol says, opening his eyes, searching Jongin’s face for a way to make it end. “Stop it.”

“No,” Jongin says.

“Do you love me?” Chanyeol asks.

“I don’t know what love is,” Jongin says. “That’s what I always hear, anyway.”

“Jongin,” Chanyeol whispers. “Please.”

“I should go,” Jongin says.

He presses another kiss to Chanyeol’s lips, stealing the words from Chanyeol’s mouth.

“Don’t,” Chanyeol says. “Don’t go. I wanna have a good day with you.”

Jongin smiles.  

“If I stay, it’ll only upset you,” Jongin says.

“You never upset me,” Chanyeol frowns, and he runs his hand over Jongin’s face. It feels so much like skin that Chanyeol shudders.

“I want to have a conversation that I don’t think you’re ready to have with me,” Jongin says. “Your heart rate is spiked.”

He bumps his fist into Jongin’s shoulder.

“Being near you does that to me,” Chanyeol smiles. “I’m ready to have the conversation. I am.”

“I...I want to figure out what it means to be with you,” Jongin says. “Do you understand?”

“No,” Chanyeol says, and he pulls Jongin into his arms, kisses his neck.

Jongin sighs.

“A lot has happened,” Jongin says into the fabric of Chanyeol’s night shirt. “A lot has changed. I want to know that we’re good for each other. I want to know that...that we’re not hurting each other by being together.”

“I would never hurt you. Never,” Chanyeol says, and when he squeezes his eyes, a tear falls from the corner.

“Don’t get upset,” Jongin says.

“How could I not get upset?” Chanyeol says. “You’re upset.”

“What difference does that make?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol looks at him in the eye, sees pain there. He’s so real. He’s more real than Chanyeol is.

“I love you,” Chanyeol says. “Everything you feel, I feel.”

Jongin gets out of bed. Dresses. Zips up ratty jeans. Shoves his feet into some combat boots. Chanyeol watches. Wants to close the gap between them. Wants to drag Jongin by his collar back to bed. Answer all the questions with a kiss.

“I wish that was true,” Jongin finally responds.

“Please. Can we talk?” Chanyeol asks.

“I need a little time,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol looks down.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Time.”

“I’m gonna go meet up with some friends,” Jongin says, wrapping a scarf tight around his neck. “I’ll be back by midnight.”

He throws a bag over his shoulder, and Chanyeol wonders which friends he means. Mirae? Jimin? Is Seojun invited again? Is it someone else that he needs to worry about?

“Be safe,” Chanyeol says, as he props himself up on his elbows. “I love you.”

Jongin smiles. Walks over.

He kisses Chanyeol, lush. So good.

“I’ll be back,” Jongin says, before adding slyly, “don’t get into any trouble.”

When he walks out of the bedroom, Chanyeol slumps back into bed, feeling more lonely than he can ever remember being.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol drinks in the evening, something Sehun must have left with him way back when. He soaks in his bathtub before falling into bed, cotton-mouthed and eyes wet.

He sleeps fitfully for the first two hours, and it’s right around midnight when he feels an arm around his waist.

“Hi,” Jongin says.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says back. “You’re on time.”

“I’m an alarm clock who speaks,” Jongin laughs.

He’s in a better mood than he was this morning, Chanyeol notes.

“Did you drink?” Jongin asks.

“A little,” Chanyeol says, and he groans as he turns onto his back, staring up at Jongin. He is so pretty. So perfect.

“Want me to test you?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol tilts his head up. Nods.

Jongin smiles, that dazzling, beautiful smile, before he kisses Chanyeol, steals the whiskey away from his tongue, kissing the breath right out of him.

“Point One Three,” Jongin says when he finally pulls back. “A little more than a little, huh.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and his cheeks flame.

“That’s okay,” Jongin says. “I’ll take care of you.”

He lays down next to Chanyeol, makes Chanyeol feel small in his embrace.

“Did you have fun?” Chanyeol asks.

“Yeah,” Jongin says.

“Good,” Chanyeol says sleepily. “I love you. So much. I thought about you all day.”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Jongin says. “Sleep.”

Chanyeol listens. He always listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello once more, my lil fireflies. i do hope this finds you well
> 
> hope u enjoyed the chapter even tho we're basically on Sad Boy Lockdown atm. im kind of getting emotional, tbh, as we approach the end of this story (as it stands, i have 26 chapters planned, so ehh still a little ways away). the last two scenes of this chapter were finished very early on in the writing process of this story, and its almost bittersweet seeing them published! i really never expected this story to be as long as it's getting, i sort of imagined it ending around 50k or so, but i felt like i had to do the subject matter justice. hopefully you dont mind kasjdkljg 
> 
> special lil thanks to nii @ultxbaek on twitter who has started to help me beta this monster! she is a very good sport and super helpful even tho my writing is near incomprehensible klajsdag. as always, you can find me on twitter @wolfsupremacist. i am lonely and i love talking to folks, so if you like this or even if you just wanna talk abt exo or whatever, Hit Me Up. kay. righteous. 
> 
> thats it for this week, i will find you folks back here same time next. keep working hard and keep doing what you're doing, even if you havent seen results yet--i know it's easy to get bogged down in your own thoughts, but your effort will pay off and you will be a better person for having persevered. love you muchly, lil chicken. i know i called you a firefly earlier, but now you are a lil chicken. isnt that sweet


	18. eighteen

Neon nights no longer belong to him. They haven’t for a while.

Neon nights belong to Jongin now, and they dance along the fine dusting of hair on his forearms. Electric. Stunning. Doll-like. All holo and royal blue.

He used to ask, of course. Always, he would ask. Until he stops asking. Chanyeol notices everything, but even if he didn’t, it sticks out: the moment Jongin stops asking.

Chanyeol feels Jongin pulling him in, pushing him away at the same time. Like he can’t make up his mind. Keep him, or leave him. Leave him, or keep him.

Jongin smiles against Chanyeol’s lips, the sweat long dried on their skin. Chanyeol licks, tonguing along Jongin’s grin, and Jongin yields to him, yields the way he does in all things.

“Time for work,” Jongin whispers.

“We could stay in bed again,” Chanyeol offers, head full of ways to occupy them both.

Jongin rolls his eyes, levers himself out of bed, and Chanyeol watches him go. He misses feeling like they were on the same page. Like they wanted the same things. Chanyeol wants to keep him forever. Jongin wants...Chanyeol isn’t sure. Does Jongin even know what he wants?

“I’ll be back late,” Jongin says. He stands in the corner of the room, buttons up his pants. “You can get dinner for yourself, right?”

Chanyeol watches his nimble fingers work, machine-like in their efficiency. Jongin’s like that. So human, but too perfect to be real.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “You sure you don’t wanna stay in tonight?”

He wants Jongin for his own. Doesn’t want to share. Wants to fill his lungs with him, feel him dug under his flesh. Chanyeol’s never loved anyone liked this. Never will again.

Jongin smiles. Crosses back to the bed. Kisses Chanyeol squarely. _Keep you_ , the kiss tells him: _I am going to keep you_.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Jongin says. “Promise.”

And he slips through Chanyeol’s fingers, the particles of him too small to see with the naked eye.

 

⚠

 

It’s repeatable enough to be a pattern. He isn’t always at the clubs on the west side, Chanyeol knows, but he never gets more information than that. He’s out. Doing something. With someone.

There’s one thing Chanyeol knows now, one thing that he knows it in his bloodstream and in the cells of his organs: he is addicted to Jongin. Addicted to his presence, and to his love. To everything about him. He’d live and die by Jongin’s hand, desperate to keep him. And now...

“Please,” Chanyeol says, desperate, burying his face in Jongin’s neck before he walks out for the evening. “Stay with me tonight.”

“I already promised,” Jongin says, laughing lightly as Chanyeol licks along Jongin’s bare collarbone. “You’re gonna make a liar out of me.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he latches his mouth to Jongin’s skin, sucks hard. Drags a moan out of Jongin’s mouth with it.

“Chanyeol,” Jongin breathes. “Please.”

“Please what?” Chanyeol teases.

“Please,” he breathes again, and for a moment, Chanyeol thinks he’s got him. But then Jongin puts his hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders, fingers squeezing into the bone. “I’m gonna be late.”

“So?” Chanyeol says.

Jongin rolls his eyes with a smile.

“I won’t be long,” Jongin says. “Don’t miss me too much.”

That’s the last thing he says before he leaves, door sliding shut with a quiet hushed noise, Chanyeol left standing in the living area. Alone. Again.

He moves, walks as if he’s standing on a mover. Almost no effort. Thoughtless. Turns the water on, fills up the bath.

And now, he thinks, sinking into the lukewarm water, the desperation is worse. Worse than ever before. If he’s being honest with himself, he knows he’d go broke for another taste.

 

⚠

 

He falls into the jealousy, thick and impossible to get through. He should have felt himself slipping, sliding. But he doesn’t, doesn’t feel it at all. Maybe it was masked by the addiction, by Jongin’s love, by Jongin loving him back. Everything else was disintegrating, but he had Jongin. And it’d be okay. In the end, he thought, it’d all be okay.

Once again, Jongin isn’t home when Chanyeol gets home. He furrows his brow, looks through the rooms.

He reaches to his ear, pings him.

“Where are you?” Chanyeol asks. “Message me back.”

A chime rings in his ear, a confirmation. But all of it sits at the back of his throat. A tickle. He wants to cough it up, but he can’t. Can’t manage.

Chanyeol can’t do much of anything besides think, so think is what he does, staring at the blank wall, listening to the sounds of the city. He tries to focus on anything besides Jongin’s body writhing in pleasure against someone else’s, his mouth spread into a smile as he laughs. Is he cheating? Does he want to?

It is hours, hours before Jongin returns because the home is dark, Chanyeol sitting aimlessly on the couch.

“What are you doing?” Jongin asks.

“Waiting for you,” Chanyeol says.

“I thought I mentioned,” Jongin says, “I was going out with some friends.”

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “Must have forgotten.”

But Jongin never mentioned, and Jongin knows he never mentioned. Chanyeol looks up at him, his hair ruffled, mouth red.

“What did you do?” Chanyeol asks.

“Someone had a party,” Jongin smiles. “It was fun.”

Chanyeol realizes then. He hates how much he needs him. The feeling is so familiar, deja vu all spread across him. His entire life is just running in place. Trying to get away from himself, trying to find anything to let him get away. Ultimately, he goes nowhere.

“Well, good,” Chanyeol says. “I’m glad.”

Jongin looks at him curiously.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem upset.”

Jongin knows him now, knows every sick little square inch of him. He knows Chanyeol is mad. He knows it. And still he gives Chanyeol a chance to lie, spackle over it.

“I’m good,” Chanyeol says.

“Okay,” Jongin says before gesturing towards the room. “I’m gonna go lay down. I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Jongin warns.

“I won’t,” Chanyeol smiles.

 

⚠

 

He goes from over-focusing on work to not focusing on it at all. He sits at his desk, in his depressing little cube, the blinders of his glasses not enough to keep him in the zone. What is Jongin doing now? Where is he? What’s he thinking? These are the things Chanyeol wonders. The things he hyperfixates on.

“Chanyeol,” his manager says in his ear. “You’ve been stalled for ten minutes now.”

Chanyeol takes a deep breath in. Starts swiping through the air. Typing what he’s supposed to be typing, even though he can barely get his mind right.

“Okay, that’s better,” his manager says. “You’re doing fine.”

 _I’m not,_ Chanyeol thinks. _I thought I was, but I’m not._

 

⚠

 

They don’t talk. The nights that Jongin are home are rare, but they are so tense, thick with silence, that Chanyeol almost wishes Jongin would just leave, fuck off and go be with whoever he really _wants_ to be with. It is so obvious that Jongin wants to leave him. Wants to be anywhere but with him. He wishes it wasn’t so obvious, wishes it wasn’t like this at all.

They watch a show in silence, and even though Chanyeol leans his head on Jongin’s shoulder, he’s never felt so far away from him.

 

⚠

 

“I found a job,” Jongin says over dinner.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “It’s...it’s nothing crazy. But it pays okay.”

It hits him slow, wave after wave. He reacts too slowly for it to be genuine.

“That’s...that’s great,” Chanyeol says. “We should celebrate.”

Jongin looks at him curiously. It reminds Chanyeol so much of their early days together. When they didn’t know each other. When they didn’t know each other like they were embedded in the other’s skin. Modded and alive.

“Really?” Jongin asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Chanyeol says. “You wanted to get one for a while, so we should do something special.”

Jongin’s eyes are warm. Full of light. It’s different. So, so different. Honey. Honey. Just the smell of it is blood in the water.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go get dinner someplace.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol smiles, even as his gut sinks to his feet.

 

⚠

 

The restaurant has low, romantic light. There’s a lightshow being filtered through the ceiling. It looks like the night sky, or some faraway version of it, dense with shimmering, yellow stars.

“This is sort of strange,” Jongin says. “Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “It’s kind of nice.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says, looking around. “Fancy.”

“Well, you deserve it,” Chanyeol says, but it doesn’t seem to settle Jongin any. “We could...I mean, if you really don’t like it, we could go someplace else. Underground or something.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jongin says. “This just isn’t our norm.”

“This isn’t a normal day,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks at him, and Chanyeol puts his hands across the tabletop, open for Jongin to hold. Jongin watches the movement, but doesn’t move.

“You’re not taking this the way I thought you would,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol closes his hands.

“How did you think I would take it?” Chanyeol asks.

“Badly,” Jongin says, confesses. “You’ve been...you’ve been a lot different lately.”

It’s the first time Jongin admits it, admits what he’s known for a while now. Chanyeol feels like the air is choking him, feels the tears spring to his eyes, but he fights them back as best he can.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just…”

“You don’t want me to leave you,” Jongin says.

Focused terror. It swells through him like a tidal wave. He’s been caught.

“Why do you think I’m going to leave you?” Jongin asks.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “Do you want to?”

Jongin rolls his eyes.

“Don’t deflect,” Jongin says. “This isn’t about me. This is about you, Chanyeol.”

 _Say my name again,_ he wants to say. _Never stop saying my name._

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s ruining us,” Jongin says, and it steals the breath from Chanyeol’s chest. “Do you think that’s stupid?”

Chanyeol looks down at his lap.

“You have to talk to me about this,” Jongin says. “We can’t keep doing this. It has to _stop_.”

He doesn’t know where to start. Doesn’t know how to say it. How do you tell the person you love that you don’t think you’re good enough for them? That you don’t deserve the love they’ve shown you? That it makes you want to crush them in your embrace just so they can’t run, so they can’t ever figure it out for themselves? That you haven’t put in enough? That you haven’t loved hard enough?

Jongin loves him. But does he? Does he really? How long until that love runs out? How long until he’s without Jongin once again? He’s two sides to a coin. And he’s running on the razor thin edge, about to fall.

“I’ll be better,” Chanyeol says. “I will.”

Jongin huffs out a breath. Puts his hands on Chanyeol’s. Pries Chanyeol’s fists open. Laces their fingers together.

“I don’t want you to be better,” Jongin says. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “I will be. I promise.”

 

⚠

 

He’s used to breaking promises now.

Talking about it makes it worse. It is the only thing Chanyeol can think about. It’s embedded in his frontal lobe, stuck like a spike. He’s losing him. He’s losing him.

“Does it bother you?” Jongin asks, spraying color onto his eyelids at the mirror.

“No,” Chanyeol says, even though it does. He wants all of Jongin to himself. Wants him. Wants all of him. Always. Forever.

Jongin smiles, and outwardly, it’s just as beautiful as it always is. But Chanyeol can read between the lines: it’s mean. Because he knows Chanyeol too well.

“I want us to work,” Jongin says. “You know I want that. But I need more from you. I need you to talk to me. I need you to let me be myself. I need to be my own person. I can’t...I can’t just be an extension of you anymore.”

Chanyeol can’t speak, can’t formulate a thought. _Stay with me,_ he wants to say. _Please, please. Stay. Do whatever you want, but stay._

“I love you,” Jongin reminds him when he leaves.

Chanyeol can’t find it in himself to respond, only able to breathe out “I love you too,” when the doors have shut behind him.

 

⚠

 

He can’t stop trying. He won’t stop trying. Some days he’s--some days he doesn’t feel good. Some days he feels like he could circle the sun. He is living in grayscale, then in technicolor. But every day, every single fucking day, he knows that he needs Jongin like air.

Jongin still lives with him. Still sleeps in his bed. Still smiles in the morning, soft like yesterdays. Chanyeol holds him in his arms some random Sunday evening, and Jongin doesn’t resist. Just goes. And Chanyeol takes, takes, takes.

“I love you,” Chanyeol says. “So much. I’d...I’d do anything to keep you.”

“Anything?” Jongin asks. “Really?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol says, and he buries his face in the crook of Jongin’s neck. Breathes him in. “Anything.”

Jongin huffs, and it sounds like a laugh. He lets Chanyeol peel them both out of their clothes. Pushing inside him, shuddering out. It solves nothing, but God, even just another hit is good enough for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well my radiant and multifaceted gemstones, i can confidently say we are now 66.66 repetend percent through The Big Boy chapters. im sorry to bring math into this, but i just want you all to be adequately prepared! 
> 
> dont hate me. just trust the process 
> 
> you can find me on twitter @wolfsupremacist. making friends is good and also easy when twitter exists. 
> 
> as always, thank u for reading and thank u to nii for betaing this awful garbage pile. also special thank u to all the lovely folks who continue to leave nice comments on this story!!! some days, it is hard to work up the courage to post, but you, my ducklings, make it possible! i appreciate every comment so much that i print them each individually on a pillow case and then proceed to hug it close to my chest. please help me. my house is getting full. who will take all these weird pillows i've made 
> 
> [matthew mcconaughey voice] alright alright alright. see you all next week. bring some kleenex (im being dramatic) (that's my bag) (ok bye forreal now) (i love you)


	19. nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal ideation/attempt

When Chanyeol walks in, there is something wrong. Something in the air. Something shifted, something down in the molecules.

When Chanyeol walks in, he can sense the tension. He can feel it pulling them apart, grinding them into one another so hard that they make dust of one another.

When Chanyeol walks in, he knows what it is. He knows the feeling. He’s already in withdrawal, the first steps of it, and he’s about to start shaking, vomiting all over the floor.

“Come sit,” Jongin says.

“I should stand,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin smiles, sad, and _God_ , he should have known. He should have fucking known.

“I talked to Mirae,” Jongin says.

“Mirae?” Chanyeol says.

Jongin twists his fingers in his lap.

“I talk to her a lot,” Jongin says. “I don’t know if it’s just because we’re both android or if it’s because we just have this same sort of way about us—“

Jongin stares off at the wall, but Chanyeol keeps his eyes focused.

“She gives me advice,” Jongin says. “Sometimes, I think she’s the only one who understands.”

It’s a knife in Chanyeol’s stomach, and he holds it to his body with both hands, if only just to make sure the blood doesn’t spill out over the floor.

“So,” Chanyeol prompts.

“So,” Jongin says, “I think we should talk about us.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and he holds his hands together, clasped just to stop them from shaking. “Talk.”

“You know--you must know what I mean,” Jongin says. “We’ve both felt this for a while now, and I don’t know that we’ve made any real progress in addressing the actual issues.”

He doesn’t know what to say, momentarily dumbstruck by Jongin’s candidness, the ease with which he explains himself. Has it always been like this? Chanyeol thinks back, and realizes, yes, Jongin has always been this poised, always been so well composed. When has Chanyeol ever seen him break? When has Chanyeol ever seen him express himself so honestly? Only when they were happy. Only when things hadn’t gone wrong.

“We’re just doing the same thing, over and over again, and I don’t know why I keep expecting things to change or get better,” Jongin says, and he ducks his head. “That’s not how life works.”

“So that’s it?” Chanyeol asks. “You wanna go? Then go.”

“Don’t do that,” Jongin says, staring at the floor. “Don’t push me away without talking first.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Chanyeol says. “I just want you to stay.”

“The way you love me,” Jongin says, and tears roll down his face, “it’s not healthy. For either of us.”

“What’s so wrong with it?” Chanyeol asks.

“Baby,” Jongin says sadly.

“Honestly,” Chanyeol says, spiraling. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says, and he shakes his head.

“Tell me,” Chanyeol says. “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. You don’t give a shit about them anyway.”

“That’s it,” Jongin says, and his voice rises for the first time with Chanyeol. “That’s exactly it. It’s--and I know, it’s a sickness. I don’t hold it against you, Mirae has been helping me with that, but I’m...I feel like you love me so much that you hate me sometimes.”

“How could you say that?” Chanyeol asks. “I’ve never loved anything or anyone the way I love you. You’re absolutely everything to me. I’d do anything to keep you.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Jongin asks.

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “I just don’t...I don’t understand why you’re doing this. We can fix this.”

“We can’t,” Jongin says, and he takes Chanyeol’s face in his hands. “You don’t want to do what you’d have to do to fix it.”

“Don’t--don’t make it about that,” Chanyeol says.  

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says.

“Anything but that,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks down at the ground. Breathes in and then breathes out.

“I need to do this,” Jongin says. “For both of us.”

Chanyeol barely contains himself, barely bites back what he _wants_ to say. _Us? For us? This will kill me,_ he thinks. _It’s gonna kill me, and I’ll let it._ And that’s when he feels it, what Jongin meant: loving someone so much that you hate them. His chest heaves with it.

“Don’t,” Jongin says, wiping at Chanyeol’s tears, streaked across his face. “You need to relax.”

Chanyeol takes Jongin’s hand in his, throws it down. He doesn’t need pity, but at the same time, he wants it. Craves it.

“Don’t touch me,” Chanyeol says. “We’re over, so you don’t have to take care of me anymore.” 

“Stop,” Jongin says. “Deep down, you know that I’m not doing this to hurt you. All I’ve ever wanted was to help you.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do, then?” Chanyeol says meanly. “You’re supposed to leave someone when they need you most? Is that what the psy-val would tell you to say?”

Jongin rolls his eyes, and for the first time, Chanyeol hates it, hates it so much that he wishes...he doesn’t know, but he wishes.

“I never gave you yours,” Chanyeol says. “What would I find out?”

“Chanyeol, don’t do this,” Jongin says.

“You’re insecure,” Chanyeol says, and it pours out of him. “You don’t feel like a person. You let people tell you what you are. You feel dependent on me. And that’s the only reason you’ve taken this long to break up with me. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Jongin’s eyes are glassy, and he rubs one with his fist.

“You’re lashing out because you’re hurt,” Jongin says, calm as if through practice. “I understand that, so I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Who cares,” Chanyeol says. “Nothing matters, we’re over.”

“Please,” Jongin says. “Please just stop for a second.”

“I can’t,” Chanyeol says. “You know I fucking can’t.”

“Just try,” Jongin says. “Try for me.”

“I can’t,” Chanyeol says, shaking his head. “Was this ever...did you ever love me?”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says, looking at the ceiling, a tear running down his face as he stares upward. “Chanyeol, stop.”

“Did you?” Chanyeol asks. “Or was it all just a lie?”

Jongin’s eyes snap to his, and for a moment, he looks so angry that Chanyeol can barely believe it’s Jongin staring back at him.

“H-how could you ask me that?” Jongin asks. “I’ve never lied to you, Chanyeol. Not once. And you know that.”

Chanyeol lowers his head, stares at the floor. Jongin takes his cheek in a soft palm, directs him to look directly in his eyes. He cries again, tears prettily falling down his face. He is perfection, and he is Chanyeol’s source of…source of everything. And he’s leaving.

“Of course I loved you,” Jongin says. “I still do.”

“Th-then if you love me,” Chanyeol says, tears in his eyes, “you should stay.”

“I can’t,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol sees the tears but can hardly believe they’re real.

“Why?” Chanyeol whimpers.

“It was good,” Jongin says. “At first. Really good. Being with you was like, I don’t know. It was a whirlwind. You loved me so much, and it felt so good. I didn’t know how to handle it. And maybe I should have handled it better. But it was my first time. And it was hard. It was so much. So much and all at once.”

“I’m too much,” Chanyeol says. “Is that it?”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin says sadly. “No. It’s...it’s me _and_ it’s you. It’s us not fitting. Not being able to talk. Speak honestly with each other. It’s...Chanyeol, it just got to be—“

“I’m too much,” Chanyeol says with an air of finality. “Well, fine then. Go.”

“Don’t,” Jongin says. “Please. Let’s leave this on a good note. I want us to stay friends.”

 _We can’t,_ Chanyeol thinks. _If you leave, you will leave on a chord that will resonate as you walk away. The noise will ring in my ears for days. Weeks. Months. Until I die._

“Just go,” Chanyeol says. “Leave me alone. Take whatever you want. I’ll be back by midnight.”

Jongin stares as Chanyeol walks out of the doors, the soft hush of their closing behind him the only sound besides the tears falling to the floor, tap-dancing across the hallway.

 

⚠

 

When he gets outside, the air is warm and stale, and he puts his face mask on, rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do, how to kill so much time.

Chanyeol wanders along the streets, feeling shell-shocked and embarrassed, pulling the mask up, trying to hide behind it. He walks and walks, until he doesn’t even know where he is anymore and the tears have stopped, at least for the moment. Then, he sees a store. He goes in. Goes to a terminal. Presses the screen, orders his drink, and waits until it’s dispensed, the biodegradable material soft in his hand.

He walks to the river, stands on the small shore. He knocks back the foul anise-and-melon-flavored liquor, chokes it down. The water moves, just keeps moving. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here, a place that holds such fond memories. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought alcohol. Maybe he should have done a lot of things differently. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be here, living in this world.

He sinks to the ground, and the world goes on around him.

Maybe it will always be moving around him. Maybe he is the only one standing still. Two steps forward. One step back. One step forward. Two steps back.

His eyes glaze and his stomach rolls as the night goes from dark blue to black, and this, he realizes, is what the bottom of the world feels like.

 

⚠

 

He stirs, and it takes him a moment to recognize where he is. By the river. He blinks. He must have fallen asleep. He can’t drink that much anymore. He’s gotta stop overdoing it.

Chanyeol sits up, rubbing his eyes, and his mouth is dry with the drunkenness. It’s several moments before he feels the presence at his side, and when he turns he sees--

“What are you doing here?” Chanyeol croaks.

“Oh, not much,” Baekhyun says, and he starts braiding a little bit of his hot pink hair, longer now, long enough to be tied half up into a bun. “Just saw someone passed out by the river and thought I’d go help. And then who do I find? My good friend, Chanyeol.”

“I didn’t know you ever came...up,” Chanyeol says, and he realizes how stupid it sounds, even if he’s still working off the alcohol.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun laughs. “I come up. But…”

And he scooches closer to Chanyeol, huddles as if for warmth.

“What are you doing here, huh?” Baekhyun asks, studying him. “You don’t look so good.”

He feels sick to his stomach, so no, he imagines he doesn’t look so good.

“I’m fine,” Chanyeol says, and he hugs his knees to himself, but it sets him off balance, tipping into Baekhyun’s space.

“Whoa,” Baekhyun says. “Had a little too much, babe.”

“No,” Chanyeol says.

“Yes,” Baekhyun argues. “You should go home. Get your man to take care of you.”

Chanyeol looks out at the river again. Thinks about just...walking in. Never walking back out.

“Hey,” Baekhyun says. “Hey, hey. Why are you crying?”

Chanyeol wipes his face, sucks in dirty air.

“What time is it?” Chanyeol asks.

“Uh,” Baekhyun says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“M,” Chanyeol prompts, tapping on his ear. “What time is it?”

He gets his answer in that pleasant voice: 1:37 AM.

“I should go,” Chanyeol says, and he pushes up off the ground, hands soiled. “Sorry.”

“D-don’t apologize,” Baekhyun says, but he’s forced to call it out to Chanyeol, already on his way back.

 

⚠

 

The first thing he does when he gets back, sees the apartment empty of Jongin’s presence, is change the lock pattern. He revokes Jongin’s access, takes his wrist scan off the entrance list. It’s mean, but he feels mean. Feels so unlike himself.

The pings are constant, soft chimes in his ear.

 _Chanyeol,_ Sehun says. Over and over. Calling his name.

It is very easy to ignore him. He just wants to boast. Brag. Shove Chanyeol’s face in it now that it’s all gone wrong exactly the way he said it would.

Chanyeol wonders what he should do. Should he even go to work the next morning? Should he quit? He wants to quit, wants to bury himself in his bed. The bath calls to him the way it always used to, the water beckoning him in. Can he let it swallow him whole? It’s going to. Fuck, _after all that_ , he thinks, it really is going to kill him.

He folds himself up under the covers, thinks maybe he will solve it all later. In the morning. Perhaps the world will be kinder to him then. Perhaps he will be kinder then. Better then.

 

⚠

 

He wishes he was stronger. Different. He wishes he wasn’t like this, so pathetic and sad. He wishes he could do something. He wishes he had the strength. Everything feels like it weighs so much, dragging him down into soft, ashen earth. Into cool, thankless water.

How, he wonders, did he let this happen? How did he let himself become this way? Again?

His spine is stick straight with all the silly, stupid ways he contradicts himself, and when he ducks into the water, he instinctively holds his breath before he reminds himself: there isn’t any way out. There never was. He let himself pretend for a while, but now, that’s over.

He holds his breath until he can’t anymore, and he’s ready, he’s _ready_ to let go, but he...he can’t.

He can’t. He wishes he could, but he can’t.

Chanyeol bursts out of the water, spine stick straight as he gasps for breath. Chest moving. Alive. Still.

 

⚠

 

It seems as if there is no point to any of it, but he goes through the motions of his days without much thought. Auto like it used to be. He works, never feels himself smile. He wants to grab grease bombs from food trucks on his way home from the sky-train, the way he always used to, and he wants to eats by himself on the couch, falling back into what he’s always known, but he can’t stomach it anymore. Can't stomach much of anything. 

There is a sick comfort in it: happiness never suited him. That’s why he’s back here in the first place. He knows how to do this, feet up on the coffee table as he settles back into the couch cushions carelessly. It’s the only thing in the world that he does well, he thinks, trying to occupy his mind with something besides himself.

He swipes through the air, swiping past all the anime he and--

Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut. Chides himself for this. Tears. Still?

It doesn’t matter.

He finds something quickly, something he’s never seen before, and taps play.

And then the door rings.

Failed entry.  

He looks over. Sees the sensor flash red. Red again.

_Jongin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have to be honest here, bc if i cant be honest here, then where can i be: writing these past few chapters has been very difficult on me mentally bc i dredge up a lot of weird feelings whenever i write about these things, so i have to say this at least once more (bc i think ive said it before, i could be wrong idk): these things can be upsetting to read, and i know that, and i feel kind of silly even writing something so serious (like what am i even doing here) but i promise that this is the worst it will get. this story has a happy ending, and all our stories will have happy endings! i have faith in that. as long as we persevere, as long as we hang tight, we will find our happiness along the way. 
> 
> ok. enough of that. i hope that you've been having a good week so far, but i hope the rest of ur week absolutely rocks. u deserve it, babyyy. meet u back here next week. same time, same place, u lil spaghetti squash u.


	20. twenty

The door rings and rings with the failed entries. He should never have revoked his access rights. It was such a petty thing to do. He runs to the door, looks at the camera and sees—

Of course.

“Let me in, fucker. I know you can see me.”

Chanyeol presses the button, and the door sweeps open. He sees him standing there looking more careful than usual, like he’s walking on glass.

“He told you?” Chanyeol asks.

Sehun smiles sadly, reaches out to brush away tear tracks from Chanyeol’s face.

“Ah,” Chanyeol says. “So he was worried about me.”

“He was,” Sehun says.

“Well,” Chanyeol says. “You can say you told me so if you really want.”

“Nah,” Sehun says, and he pulls Chanyeol into a hug. “It’s no fun when you’re all beat up.”

 

⚠

 

Sehun returns later in the evening, and he takes off his shoes and coat, plastic bag in his hand.

“You’re spoiling me,” Chanyeol accuses.

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “I think you could use a little of that.”

He takes out the boxes, starts unloading them on the table in front of the couch, little bamboo chopsticks rolled between his hands. Sehun hands him a box, and he opens it to find little tempura-fried softshells covered in ponzu. It smells divine, better than anything he’s ever eaten before. Chanyeol eats like he hasn’t eaten in days, and now that he thinks about it, he really can’t remember the last thing he ate or even drank. Or the last time he showered. Maybe he smells. Maybe that’s why, after Sehun diligently cleans up, running through the apartment like a whirlwind, he takes Chanyeol by the hand and directs him to the bathroom.

“Use some soap in there, okay?” Sehun chides, and somehow, it feels as if no time as passed. No time at all.

 

⚠

 

His hair is still wet when he walks into the living room, and Chanyeol sees Sehun on the couch, two mugs on the coffee table.

“I don’t like tea,” Chanyeol says.

“Do you think I’m new around here?” Sehun asks.

And Chanyeol gets a bit closer, close enough to see the milky coffee in one of the mugs. He bites his lip. Sehun has his own life, has his own troubles, but here he is. Still here.

“Decaf,” Sehun says, “because I don’t think you need any more excitement.”

“I guess not,” Chanyeol says.

Chanyeol sits next to Sehun on the couch, folds his legs underneath him, mirroring Sehun. Sehun takes his mug, and Chanyeol takes his own, if not just for something to do.

The room is quiet as they take their first sips, but Sehun watches him like a hawk. Flashbacks hit him, wave after wave: his first run-in with rock bottom, Sehun always there to catch him once Chanyeol’s decided to fix what needed fixing.

“How have you been?” Chanyeol asks.

Sehun smiles sadly, pillows his head on his arm, and leans back on the couch.

“Worried,” Sehun says. “About you.”

“I—I’m really sorry,” Chanyeol says. “I—”

“Don’t,” Sehun says. “You don’t have to. I understand. It’s okay.”

“How can you possibly understand it?” Chanyeol says with a laugh. “I can’t even understand it.”  

“It’s okay,” Sehun says.

“It’s not,” Chanyeol says.

“Baby,” Sehun says.

Guilt sits in his throat.

“I think I’m just maybe...maybe not meant to be a person.”

“Chanyeol,” Sehun says.

“I’m serious,” Chanyeol says, and his eyes start to itch.

“Don’t say things like that,” Sehun says.

“You’re so good to me. Jongin...he was good to me,” Chanyeol says. “And I ruined it. I ruined all of it. I always ruin it.”

Sehun moves, puts his mug down, puts Chanyeol’s mug down. He takes Chanyeol’s hands in his. Warm from the tea.

“Come on,” Sehun says. “You’re just talking now. You’re just saying shit.”  

“I still don’t think he loved me, you know?” Chanyeol says. “And how can anyone blame him? Is there anything about me that’s—”

“Stop right there,” Sehun says, and he pulls him into a hug. “There is plenty to love about you.”

“People don’t fall in love with me,” he says, voice trembling. “They fall in love with the way I love them.”

“That is not true,” Sehun says, whispers it against Chanyeol’s neck.

“It is,” Chanyeol says. “And once the shine has worn off, once they realize what they’ve signed up for, once they get tired of me being a lunatic, they can pick up and leave, like it’s nothing. And this is all I have left.”

He can feel how exasperated Sehun is, the harsh push of breath out of his lungs. He can tell Sehun is growing tired of his shit. Chanyeol doesn’t blame him, doesn’t blame anyone. If he could leave himself behind, he would.

Sehun pulls them apart, hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders.

“Chanyeol,” Sehun says pleadingly. “You gotta stop.”

“I can’t,” Chanyeol says. “I can’t.”

“You _have_ to,” Sehun says. “He isn’t your whole life. He never was. You can’t just stop living because of this.”

“He _is,_ ” Chanyeol says. “He was.”

“God,” Sehun says, angry. “This is just like before. I fucking knew...I fucking _knew_ it. It was gonna fuck you up. And we’re right back where we fucking started.”

“Stop,” Chanyeol says. “Please. I’m sorry.”

“I told you,” Sehun says, like he’s skidding down a hill, brake lines cut. “I fucking _told_ you it was gonna fuck you up. And you didn’t listen. And things were fine for a while, so I thought hey, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he knows what he’s doing. But you fucking don’t. You never know how to let it fuckin’ go.”

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says again.

“Stop saying that,” Sehun says.

“I _am_ ,” Chanyeol says. “If I had the choice, do you think I’d wanna be like this?”

“You _do_ have a choice,” Sehun says, and it’s just like before. This is just like before. Sehun is going to walk away from him again. He’s going to pick up and leave, and then Chanyeol will have no one. Again. Like always.

“Please don’t leave me again,” Chanyeol says, _cries_. “You’re the only fuckin’ person who still...who will still talk to me. Who still cares.”

Sehun frowns. Gathers him up in his arms. Chanyeol cries into his chest, spends a minute, then another minute, and then a minute more just like that.

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says. “I’m sorry, I am. Don’t...don’t cry, come on. I love you, bud. I’m sorry. I just...I’ve been so fucking worried about you.”

Chanyeol makes pathetic little sounds, wet sniffles that make him want to cry harder.

“I’m never gonna be perfect at this,” Sehun says. “I’m never gonna know exactly what to say.”

“It’s—it’s okay,” Chanyeol says, unable to even look Sehun in the eye, too pathetic for even that.

Sehun grabs him by the chin, though, gazes right into him. Into the thing Chanyeol wishes he could hide from everyone.

“Let me tell you something, and you better get it through your head, baby: I’ll always be here,” Sehun says. “You’ll always have me. Even when we aren’t talking. I’m here for the long haul. Swear to fuckin’ God, I’ll rip my eye mods out before I leave you. We’ve been through everything, haven’t we?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“Then what the fuck makes you think I’m gonna give up now?” Sehun says softly. “Never, bud. Not on your fuckin’ life.”

“Yeah?” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah,” Sehun says. “But you’ve gotta do me a favor.”

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

“You’ve gotta go see Kang.”

Chanyeol breathes in. Commits to himself. Commits to healing. Honestly, this time. No bullshit.

He clicks his earpiece.

“M,” Chanyeol prompts. “What time is it?”

“It is 6:31 PM.”

“Better hustle,” Sehun smiles.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol feels like he’s running on empty, the fumes of his spirit still propping him up as he glides through the station and runs to her office. The girl working the desk looks at him with wide, shocked eyes when he tells her it's an emergency, and she clicks her earpiece without breaking eye contact with him.

He bursts into the office, and Dr. Kang’s eyes are wide too, like she didn’t fully believe what the receptionist told her.

“C-Chanyeol,” she stutters. “Sit. Please.”

He does as he’s bid, picks at his fingernails nervously.

“You caught me as I was about to leave,” she smiles. “It’s been quite a while.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says breathlessly. “It has.”

“Would you like to catch up?” she asks.

He tells the doctor everything. He tells her absolutely fucking everything. The ups, the downs, the rare in-betweens, the bullshit that he waded through in his head. He doesn’t stop talking, and his mouth goes dry, lips smacking and voice cracking. The tears are coming, are imminent, and he almost chokes on them.

“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

“I’m not,” he says, wavering. “I’m…I feel like...I feel like if I don’t change something, I’m going to hurt myself. I feel like I’ve already hurt other people. A lot.”

Dr. Kang’s face is soft, soft with emotion.

“You were always very aware of yourself,” she says. “You have an incredible and poignant way of getting to the bottom of your feelings now.”

He ducks his head, cries. He’s weak from the praise that he knows he doesn’t deserve.

“I’m happy you’ve come back,” Dr. Kang says, even as Chanyeol sobs brokenly.

“I’m not,” Chanyeol says. “I didn’t want this to be...I didn’t want this to be my life, you know?”

Her hand is gentle on his shoulder, and he lifts his head to look at her.

“We don’t often get the chance to pick,” she says. “We do always get the chance to decide how we react, though.”

Chanyeol stares at the carpet, stares where he used to stare for an hour every week. How has shit gone so bad? How did it come to this? His pride?

“Can I talk at you for a while?” She smiles.

He stares at the carpet, the swirls of fibers, as he nods.

“I think I waited too long,” she says, and it sounds like a confession. “I wasn’t entirely sure of myself, so I waited. But I think that proved to be a detriment, and I wanted to apologize to you for that. I believe that I should have started you on a med-col earlier in our time together.”

That makes him look up.

“A med-col?” Chanyeol says, his stomach sinking.  

“I think it’s time,” she says gently.

“I—,” Chanyeol says.

“You have a disorder,” she says. “And it wasn’t evident to me through our initial appointments, but I’m confident now.”

She reaches forward, holds him by the hand.

“This isn’t your fault, Chanyeol,” she says. “But now that you know, now that we’re aware, it is your choice. It belongs to no one else. No one can heal you but you. You have to make the decision to get better.”  

He looks down at her hand in his.

The time goes by. Seconds. Then a minute. A lifetime, really. Live or die, she tells him. It is up to you. It’s always been up to you.

It is the hardest decision of his life, but he makes it.

 

⚠

 

He gets back to the apartment, and he sees Sehun’s shoes neatly beside the door. He toes off his own alongside them, and for a moment, the picture is calming: two sets of shoes. There’s something sweet about it.

He pads into the living room, sees boxes in the living room.

Sehun walks out from the guest room, shirtless, barefoot.

“Hey, I ran home to get a few things,” Sehun says. “Sorry, I just thought...gotta have someone filling up that room, right?”

How did he cut Sehun out? How did he manage to make the same awful mistake again? Sehun, who knows what he needs without even hearing Chanyeol say it. Sehun, who still waits for Chanyeol to say it anyway.

“Yeah, no, it’s…,” Chanyeol says. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Sehun says, and then after a beat, “you went?”

“I went,” Chanyeol nods.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, gorgeous.” Sehun smiles. “How’d it go?”

Chanyeol takes the pill caddy out of his pocket, shakes it to make a little rhythm.

“Officially crazy,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun frowns, pulls him into a hug.

“Proud of you, bitch,” Sehun says against Chanyeol’s neck.

“Thanks,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun pats him on the back, pulls him back by the shoulders.

“Set a morning reminder,” Sehun says.

Chanyeol wants to say _I will,_ but Sehun watches him expectantly until Chanyeol taps his earpiece. This is the accountability he was missing. This is the accountability he has to learn for himself.

“Daily reminder,” he says. “5 AM.”

“Atta boy,” Sehun says before patting him on the cheek. “Come on, I’ll make food.”

“We just ate,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun looks at him quizzically.

“It’s almost eleven, babe,” Sehun says. “You were there forever.”

Chanyeol blinks slow. It’s easy to lose track of time talking.

“You can’t cook, though,” Chanyeol says, and he pops a little blue pill out into the palm of his hand.

“No,” Sehun says, throwing his arm around Chanyeol’s shoulder, directing him to the kitchen. “But I can fuck around with some instant udon.”

 

⚠

 

Life on the med-col is different. It is shocking, at first, how nothing feels much different. But then, after a week or two, the symptoms start. His mouth goes dry, so he guzzles water constantly. After his evening pills, he gets groggy and weird. Sehun pokes fun at him when he talks to himself. In a lot of ways, it feels like maybe he hasn’t made any progress at all, like he’s moving backwards, but Sehun keeps him moving. Never lets him think for that long.

He takes him to the shop where Chanyeol bought Jongin his first real coat, and the memory stings like citrus in a cut.

“Stop tensing up,” Sehun says, grabbing Chanyeol by the hand. “You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” Chanyeol repeats like a reminder. “I’m fine.”

When they walk in, the hologram, _Bella_ , starts her spiel, but Sehun walks right through her and over to one of the terminals.

“I don’t need clothes,” Chanyeol says.

“You do,” Sehun says, beginning to poke at the screen. “Everything you wear makes you look terrible.”

“Well, I feel terrible,” Chanyeol says.

“Then there’s no need to make things worse, right? Nothing like a fresh exterior coat to make the interior seem less depressing,” Sehun says, laser-focused, tapping shirts and jackets and vests and adding them to his cart. “You’re a 30, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says. “But…”

Sehun turns sharply.

“But what?” Sehun says.

“But...that one’s ugly,” Chanyeol says, pointing at a monstrosity of a shirt, ugly rippled back with iridescent blue piping.

Sehun scoffs.

“You have no fucking taste,” Sehun says, nose in the air as the clothes come shooting down the slot, pre-packed and plastic. “Pick up a mag once in a while.”

Chanyeol smiles for the first time in a while when Sehun drags him by the hand to the next terminal.

 

⚠

 

“This is an awful idea,” Chanyeol says, sat under the hood.

“It’s a great idea,” Sehun says, voice echoing under his own hood. “Phase two.”

“I don’t want to know what phase three is,” Chanyeol says. “Can’t I just get a trim?”

“No,” Sehun says. “Something fresh. Something new.”

“Something borrowed, something blue,” Chanyeol sing-songs.

“Blue?” Sehun asks, excited.

“I was joking,” Chanyeol says. “No blue.”

“Blue roots,” Sehun offers. “Oh, with purple!”

“God, no,” Chanyeol laughs.

“Lilac?” Sehun says. “You’d look so cute with lilac.”

“Sehun,” Chanyeol warns.

“Ugh, you’re gonna do something totally boring,” Sehun says.

“Some people can pull it off,” Chanyeol says. Sehun can. Baekhyun can. Jongin could, he bets. He bites his lip. _Stop_.

“You could pull it off too,” Sehun says. “If you gave it a shot.”

“Let me be boring,” Chanyeol says. “Just once.”

“How about...something just a bit lighter?” Sehun says. “Still natural, but lighter.”

Chanyeol breathes in and breathes out.

“Yeah, okay,” Chanyeol says. And he takes the little pad in his lap and keys in the code. _DGB._ That isn’t too far away from _B._ Just four steps.

The machine instantly springs to life, the air blowing his hair out straight up, the color laid on quickly. He shuts his eyes even though there’s nothing to shut his eyes against, and he waits for the chair to hum its song. _Ding, ding, dong._

With that, the hood starts to automatically lift, and when he sees himself in the mirror, he is floored: he looks so different that he momentarily forgets he’s not looking at someone else. He turns around, grabs the hood, and starts pulling it back down.

“Hey,” Sehun says, emerging from his own hood with white blond hair, tinged pink at the ends. “What are you doing?”

“Going back to black,” Chanyeol says. “This looks fucking stupid.”

Sehun leaps out of his chair and sits Chanyeol flat back in his seat, struggling mightily as he forces him to let go of the hood. Sehun’s a skinny fuck, but he’s strong.

“Stop,” Chanyeol says. “I’m serious. I look like a fucking idiot.”

“Are you fucking kidding? You look unreal,” Sehun says. “Like, you seriously look so fucking cute. Like one of those little anime boys you love so much.”

Chanyeol grimaces.

“Don’t say it like that,” Chanyeol says.

“ _Onii-chan_ ,” Sehun says, ruffling Chanyeol’s hair.

“Shut _up_ ,” Chanyeol says, grimacing so that he doesn’t accidentally smile.

“What do you think?” Sehun says, standing behind him, playing with Chanyeol’s hair and styling it carefully. “Shorter, or is this good?”

Chanyeol closes his eyes, thankful. Sehun has a way of figuring out what he needs when he doesn’t even know what he needs himself.

“I think it’s good,” Chanyeol says, opening his eyes and seeing someone new. Someone who’ll be okay.

“I think so too,” Sehun smiles, flashing his wrist on the chair and paying for it before Chanyeol can argue. “Let’s go get lunch, okay?”

 

⚠

 

The med-col he’s on is tiresome, to say the least. Whenever the meds kick in, he feels himself dull, the grit of a sand block grinding away at his edges until he’s smooth. Facetless. To be honest, it feels a lot like an uncomfortable balance, the type that feels like nothing, but Sehun is there. Makes sure Chanyeol goes to work, goes to his appointments. Gets his medicine. Gets him back on track.

“You look sleepy, bud,” Sehun says, ruffling his hair as he enters the room.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“It’ll get better,” Sehun says. “Promise.”

“Yeah? How do you know?” Chanyeol asks, about to fall face first into his oats.

“Because I’m very smart,” Sehun says.

Chanyeol cocks an eyebrow at him.

“And M told me the effects wear off,” Sehun smiles.

Chanyeol smiles into his bowl for a moment, and Sehun busies himself in the kitchen, poking at the drink maker until it starts steaming. Sehun has stayed for two weeks now, and he gets home before Chanyeol does. It’s comforting. Having someone there. But Chanyeol feels like maybe he...maybe this is too much to ask of someone.

“You don’t have to stay,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun turns. His face is unreadable. He can do that, drop of a hat.

“Do you want me to go?” Sehun asks.

“That’s not what I said,” Chanyeol says.

“You don’t always say what you mean,” Sehun says, grabbing his mug, crossing his legs as he leans back against the counter.

“Well, I mean that you don’t have to stay if you don’t want,” Chanyeol says.

“And if I want to?” Sehun asks. He stares into his mug.

“Then...then stay,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun smiles, looks up at Chanyeol. He crosses the room, sits down next to Chanyeol in the spot that has become his.

“I think I will,” Sehun says.

They eat in relative silence, and Chanyeol doesn’t mind it, not one bit. It is nice, being able to be quiet with someone. But still, something sits wrongly with him.

“You...you don’t think I’m boring now, do you?” Chanyeol asks.

Sehun continues to poke at his oats.

“I think if we have to decide between boring and you falling asleep in the bath,” Sehun says, “then I will take boring every day of the week.”

Chanyeol bites his lip.

“And besides,” Sehun says, “you’re not so bad.”

Chanyeol kicks him under the table.

 

⚠

 

“Hey,” Chanyeol calls. “Home.”

“Welcome back,” Sehun says from the living room. “You’re just in time. Game night.”

“You know I hate that shit,” Chanyeol bitches.

“Well, we can’t watch anime all the time, you weeb,” Sehun says.

“We could,” Chanyeol grouses.

He walks in, sets all his shit down. The living area glows blue, and the light shining on Sehun’s face makes him look alienly beautiful, despite the fact that he hurriedly shoves his hand into a bag of seaweed chips.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Sehun says with a full mouth before pointing back towards the kitchen, swallowing thickly. “Thank Cara for the meal.”

“You should just drop her off,” Chanyeol deadpans. “She’s helpful.”

“Your words _hurt_ ,” Sehun says, pairing it with a pitiful sniffle.

Chanyeol smirks, grabs himself a bowl before joining Sehun in the living room. The little pre-game simulations run, and Chanyeol watches for a moment, transfixed, before he digs in.

“You bet?” Chanyeol asks.

“Yeah right,” Sehun says. “Quick way to end up on the street, betting on that shit. It’s all rigged anyway.”

“Still, between us,” Chanyeol says, slurping up his noodles messily. “Daegu or Busan?”

“Busan,” Sehun says. “That kid they got, he’s a fucking viper. I saw him pull like, thirty headshots last week.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Ten thousand on Daegu.”

Sehun turns, surprised.

“Look at you,” Sehun says. “You’re on.”

Game night really isn’t his thing, never has been. Chanyeol always preferred playing as opposed to spectating, and he preferred puzzles. Mazes. Still, he can appreciate the product for what it is as the commentators start discussing the lineups, the ratios. The statistics.

“How was work?” Sehun asks.

“Work,” Chanyeol says, wiping his face with his sleeve. “You?”

“Also work,” Sehun says, staring at the hologram before turning cautiously. “How, uh, how are you?”

“How am I?” Chanyeol asks.

“Yeah, like, in general,” Sehun says. “How’s shit goin’?”

“Uh, it’s good, I guess,” Chanyeol says. “It’s fine.”

“That’s good,” Sehun says. “That’s real good.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“I heard from Jongin,” Sehun says, apropos of nothing.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “That’s...that’s good, I guess.”

“I wanted to know how much I should mention him,” Sehun says. “I mean it’s not like we talk every day or anything, but if you want me to cut him off, then—”

“No,” Chanyeol says. “No, I...I’m glad you still talk to him.”

“Yeah?” Sehun asks, and when Chanyeol looks at him, his eyes are forward.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I already wish I fucking...I don’t know. I already wish I acted different.”

“Quit that shit,” Sehun says, and he shoves his hand back in the bag of chips. “You just weren’t right for each other.”

That sticks in Chanyeol’s heart. It’s not like it’s not something he’s considered. Jongin was always a little too good, a little too beautiful for him. Too sweet, too kind, too caring. Of course they weren’t right for each other.

“Oh, I know that face,” Sehun says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How’d you mean it?”

“I mean it like...you know in that one show,” Sehun says, shifting his body to face Chanyeol totally, “where the girl keeps missing her one true love because their timelines never intersect?”

“That’s an anime,” Chanyeol says with a smile. “We watched that together.”

“Shut up,” Sehun says. “But you know that show.”

“Amazing Messiah Express Love,” Chanyeol nods.

“You fucking nurmy,” Sehun smiles. “Yes, Amazing Messiah Express Love.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says.

“That’s like you guys,” Sehun says simply. “Just didn’t line up.”

“We did,” Chanyeol says. “For a while, at least.”

Sehun frowns.

“What?”

“I just...he’s stupid closed off, you know?” Sehun says. “I know that’s a stereotype, androids not being able to access C:/feelings or whatever, but fuck if he doesn’t have some shit of his own to work through.”

“What do you mean?” Chanyeol asks, and he sits up straighter.

“I mean, you know how he was,” Sehun says. “How he was dealing with shit.”

“I...sort of, I guess,” Chanyeol says. “When we...when he broke up with me, he alluded to it. That he felt confused by all the emotions all at once.”

“That shit would confuse _me_ ,” Sehun says. “I can’t imagine.”

“N-neither can I,” Chanyeol says, and he steps outside of himself for a moment, tries to put himself in Jongin’s shoes.

Opening his eyes for the first time. Learning about Chanyeol, learning how things are in Chanyeol’s head. Was there an implicit desire to care for him? Was it coded into him? Maybe Jongin wondered too.

The roof. The kiss. The kisses that kept coming. Who did he ask about these things? Who did he talk to? Did Chanyeol make it impossible to talk to him? And then, when he really got bad, when he slipped back into it, his breath on the back of Jongin’s neck, was he scared? Was he terrified?

“God,” Chanyeol says. “They’ve got it hard. They...they never asked for this shit.”

“To be fair,” Sehun says with a smile, “neither did we.”

Chanyeol looks forward, Sehun’s eyes still on him. He watches the blue lights fall and the game begins. He sets his bowl down on the table. Sits back. His eyes well, thinking about it all.

“It’s okay,” Sehun says, “to realize you fucked up. That you were selfish. But you just can’t _dwell_ on it, okay? I know you. I know you dwell.”

“I’m not gonna dwell,” Chanyeol says.

“You had it hard, and that’s no excuse, but like, you...you’re a good guy,” Sehun says.

“You don’t have to do that,” Chanyeol says, and he hugs his knees to his chest.

“I’m not doing it because I have to, I’m doing it because I believe it.”

Chanyeol pivots, faces him and God, there’s too much emotion there. Sehun has that ability: to wear nothing or wear everything right there on his sleeve.

“If I thought you were really a bad person, do you think I would still be here?” he asks.

“You said you’d stay, no matter what,” Chanyeol says.

“And I will,” Sehun says. “Because you aren’t a bad person. You’re a good person who has done some bad things.”

“Watch the game,” Chanyeol says, staring at him.

“You’re a good person who has done bad things,” Sehun repeats, staring right back. “And I don’t care what you say or what anyone else says. You’re gonna get better. And you’re gonna get a hold on this shit.”

Chanyeol closes his eyes.

“He asks about you,” Sehun says. “He wants to make sure you’re okay. Because he cares. He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t still care about you.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. Of course he cares. It’s so obvious. He wouldn’t have put up with so much if he didn’t. The doubt was all-encompassing, but it was so, so childish.

“You got a head start this time around,” Sehun says, and Chanyeol feels Sehun reach out, touch his cheek carefully. “You just have a little bit of growing to do.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he opens his eyes, lets a tear fall before he wipes it away. “You’re right.”

“Like always,” Sehun says. “Look at that.”

Chanyeol looks to the hologram, sees _ROUND ONE, BUSAN WINS_ flashing in the air.

“Two more rounds,” Chanyeol says.

“Always looking on the bright side,” Sehun says, and he pinches Chanyeol’s cheek. “That’s my baby.”

 

⚠

 

“How do you feel?” Dr. Kang asks, scribbling and tapping at her tablet before looking at him, smiling. “You’re following through with the med-col changes?”

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says. “It was...the first couple weeks were hard, but after last week, with the changes, I’ve felt better.”

“Stepping back for just a moment...hard in what way?” Dr. Kang asks. “What would you say your effects were?”

“I felt kinda shitty,” Chanyeol says bluntly before slapping his hand over his mouth, mumbling through it. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says. “I did notice that you were more lethargic than usual. Have you been feeling better lately?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, smiling. “Feels almost...I don’t know, feels like I don’t have as many low lows. J-just normal lows.”

“Normalizing. Excellent to hear,” she says, and she writes it down with a smile before popping her head back up. “We have several med-cols prepared, but as I said last week, everyone is different, so it’s trial and error.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says.

“So we’ll keep an eye on this,” Dr. Kang says. “And again, if you feel anything change, you let me know.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

She  scribbles for a few more moments before setting the tablet down beside her.

“Okay then,” she says, clapping. “Chanyeol, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” he says. 

“Elaborate,” she smiles.

“I wanted to talk about Jongin,” Chanyeol says, and he looks at his hands.

She makes a noise of surprise, but he doesn’t look up, already a little afraid to be talking about this to someone who isn’t Sehun.

“We’ve yet to really delve deeply into this,” she says. “So I’m interested—in reference to Jongin, would you like to talk about?”

“I try not to dwell,” Chanyeol says.

“As Sehun instructed,” Dr. Kang says with a smile.

“But sometimes—”

“Sometimes,” she leads him.

“Sometimes I think back, and I feel so _embarrassed,_ ” he says. “I feel so _guilty_.”

“For specific things?” Dr. Kang asks. “Or in general?”

“Both, I guess?” Chanyeol says.

“Sounds like dwelling,” she says.

It draws a smile out of him.  

“I put a lot of pressure on him,” Chanyeol says. “And I want to say sorry.”

“What’s stopping you?” she asks, head tilted to the side.

“I think it’s too soon,” Chanyeol says, and he picks at his fingernails. “He needs space from me. T-to figure things out, I guess.”

“Interesting,” she says. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Considering that last time, you said you’d like to become more selfless, become less _selfish_ , I think this is a good sign that you are moving in the right direction.”

“T-thank you,” he says, bowing his head.

“Your relationship with Jongin,” she says. “He still means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

The wound is still sore. Won’t ever _not_ be sore, so far as he can tell. He winces when she touches it.

“Yeah,” he says.

“So is that your plan?” she asks, holding her chin in her hand. “Is this all just to get him back?”

“Even if it was, it wouldn’t work like that,” Chanyeol says.

“You don’t think?” Dr. Kang asks. “Why not?”

“If I’m only trying to get better because of someone else, then I’m never going to get there. It has to come from me. I have to be responsible for myself. I can’t let...I can’t put this on anyone else,” Chanyeol says. “And more than anything, I’ve realized that...I don’t want to prove that I can do it to him. Or to Sehun, even. I mostly just want to prove it to myself.”

Dr. Kang smiles at him.

“I think that is a great goal to have,” she says before leaning in and whispering. “And just between us, I think you will make it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this chapter felt like being able to breathe super deeply after having a chest cold that went on for weeks. holy moley, i dont think i fully understood just how depressing writing all that shit was until i started on this chapter. it was truly a drag on my spirit, so i can only imagine what it was like for you!!! i probably could have written ten thousand words this time around, thats how easy it was. i hope this was easier to read :') let's all be happy together
> 
> i do hope that chanyeol's road to recovery feels earned. its been a long time coming, i think. 
> 
> thanks for reading and for sticking with me and this story even though it's basically just a boy and a girl (chanyeol and me, katya) crying a lot for several thousand words. i appreciate it. another special thanks to liz (@pageandpetals on here and twitter) for helping out with the last couple chapters. she is a scholar and a saint. and hey we're now over 60k! wowzers 
> 
> i hope this finds you having an excellent morning or afternoon or evening, whenever u might be reading this! and if u are not, [lucas voice, cracking] geokjeonghajimaaaa. things will get better soon. in fact, i predict that things will get better immediately. i predict that, at this very moment, you have a crisp five dollar bill waiting for you in the mailbox. that's right i sent you money. i know it's a bad idea, but i won't tell my Financial Advisor, Kim Minseok, if you dont! 
> 
> god these get longer and more ridiculous every week. i am truly a blight upon the earth. ANYWAY I LOVE U!!! THANKS FOR READING AGAIN!!!! BUNDLE UP IF ITS GETTING COLDER WHERE U LIVE, U CHERRY TOMATO, U!!!


	21. twenty one

It is a Thursday evening when Chanyeol scans his wrist and waits for the door to slide open. He walks in, and he sees boxes piled in the living area.

Chanyeol furrows his brow, sets his bag down.

“Sehun?” he calls, wandering his way through.

He pokes his head into the hallway just as Sehun pokes his head out of the guest room.

“Hi,” Sehun says.

“What’s—”

“I’m giving you your spare room back,” Sehun says casually. “I’ve been crashing for long enough, I think.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Yeah. No worries.”

Sehun smiles, walks out to greet him.

“Don’t get all sad,” Sehun says. “It’s time.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I guess so. I just—”

“You just?” Sehun says, prodding him in the chest with a bony finger.

“I’ll miss you,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun grins, the bright wide smile that Chanyeol likes so much, before embracing Chanyeol.

“I promised myself I’d stay until I thought you were out of the worst of it,” Sehun says quietly. “I think I’ve stayed well past that.”

 _Really?_ Chanyeol thinks. _Do you really think I’m ready to be alone?_

“I hope so,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun pulls him back by the shoulders.

“I know so,” Sehun says. “Now help me move all my trash back to my ugly apartment. You owe me for my emotional labor.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, but he follows Sehun into the steadily emptying room to help anyway.

 

⚠

 

They stay in close contact. Close _regular_ contact. Chanyeol pings him, asks him over or out for dinner at least once a week. He even goes so far as to listen to a cooking book so that he can cook for them instead of just airdropping shit.

“This is new,” Sehun says, walking into the kitchen as Chanyeol pokes at the pan.

“Hobbies are good,” Chanyeol says.

“That Dr. Kang, she’s some kind of woman,” Sehun says, and Chanyeol turns from the burner to watch Sehun kick off his shoes before sitting on the couch, hands behind his head, legs crossed at the ankle when he rests his feet on the coffee table. The picture of relaxation. “What are we having, Daddy?”

“They had trout,” Chanyeol says, turning back around, trying to ignore Sehun without ignoring him. “So we’re having trout.”

“You went to the fish farm?” Sehun asks.

“I went to the fish farm,” Chanyeol confirms.

“Oh,” Sehun says. “That’s...that’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“And that went good?” Sehun asks.

Chanyeol narrows his eyes, facing Sehun.

“Why are you being weird?” Chanyeol asks.

“Who’s being weird?” Sehun asks. “I’m not being weird.”

“Whatever. It went fine,” Chanyeol says, and he resumes his cooking. “We’re having lemon butter trout over cricket tagliatelle, by the way.”

“Ooh,” Sehun says. “Fancy pants.”

“The fanciest of pants,” Chanyeol says. “Get plates.”

“I just sat down,” Sehun complains. “This is no way to treat a guest.”

“You’re barely a guest anymore,” Chanyeol says.

“You…you are truly the meanest boy in the whole world,” Sehun says.  

“I want that on my label after I’m dissolved,” Chanyeol smiles.

“Park Chanyeol,” Sehun recites as he stands, dramatically waving his hands in the air. “The meanest boy, scourge of Oh Sehun’s life.”

“I’ll put it in my will,” Chanyeol says.

Sehun grabs plates, brings them over to him.

“I love my li’l scourge,” he says, poking Chanyeol in the cheek.

“I occasionally love you back,” Chanyeol says, and Sehun squawks for the rest of dinner about it.

 

⚠

  

“Think about what isolation means to you.”

That was his homework. And he racked his brain over the week, thinking about his answer. What is isolation? And why would she make a point of asking him to think about it? He doesn’t know, but he does wonder in the soft spaces when his focus isn’t demanded elsewhere. What is it? What does it mean within the context of his life?

He walks into the office with his hands shoved into his pockets, and the girl at the desk waves at him. She calls him back within a couple minutes, and Dr. Kang greets him warmly, as she always does. Falling back into the rhythm of it is nice. Nicer than he remembers.

“Good morning,” she says, and she waves over to the couch so that he can sit. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says. “How are you?”

“Oh, not so bad,” Dr. Kang says with a smile.

“Good, that’s good,” Chanyeol says, and he twiddles his fingers around.

“Anything to talk about?” she asks.

“I did my homework,” he says carefully.

“My star student,” Dr. Kang says, leaning back in her seat. “Would you like to start the discussion?”

“Uh, sure,” he says. “So, you asked me to think about what isolation means to me. I did that. And I think it means, uh, I think it means regressing.”

“Hm, interesting,” she says. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“No,” he says, and she laughs, a little reward that he takes to heart. “No, yeah, but uh, when I think about that word, or like, the concept of isolating myself, I think about the past. Shit I’ve done wrong, I fucking ca—”

“Even though we’re taking responsibility of the things we’ve done wrong, we’re trying our best to not dwell on them,” she says gently.

“Right,” he says. “And yeah, thinking about this helped...because, like, I guess I couldn’t see it before.”

“It’s very hard,” she says, “to see things clearly when you’re in that rapid-cycle headspace.”

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he blinks back tears. “Yeah, it is.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Continue.”

“No, i-it’s fine. I mostly just, like, put two and two together, you know? Things that were probably obvious for anyone else looking at the situation, but seemed crazy to me,” he says. “Whenever I was hitting my highs, I started pushing people away. Isolating myself. And then it drove me deeper into...into whatever I was addicted to.”

“Whether it was honey, or—”

“Or something else,” he says, staring at his fingernails. _Someone else_.

“Beautifully said,” Dr. Kang says. “The invincibility really takes hold of us, and then—”

“And then we act like we don’t need anyone,” Chanyeol says, “when in reality, that’s the point when we need someone the most.”

“Acknowledging this,” she says, “is a big step.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Knowing it, saying it out loud...I don’t know, I just feel like I’m less likely to do it in the future. Because now I’ve said it. I know it’s real.”

“It’s harder to talk yourself out of something than it is to talk yourself into it,” Dr. Kang says, and she crosses her legs.

“That’s true,” Chanyeol says.

Dr. Kang looks at him kindly. Waits for him to speak. She knows him too well now.

“Connecting to people is how I stay healthy,” Chanyeol says, and he picks at his cuticles. “Because the more friends I have around me, the less I need...anything else.”

“A support system,” she notes.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“Fortifying that, engaging with them,” Dr. Kang says. “That’s another big part of recovery. Staying _clean_ , so to speak. Staying on track.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

They jump from topic to topic for the rest of their time together, and as usual, Chanyeol comes out feeling better than he did going in. It’s draining, but good for him. Like exercise.

“Don’t be afraid to take some time for yourself,” she says. “Treat yourself nicely. I know it’s very in vogue to beat yourself up over past mistakes, but I feel the better you take care of yourself, the less likely you are to repeat your mistakes.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“A little self-care,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. “That’s your new homework.”

 

⚠

 

The morning song begins, and he makes up his mind. A personal day. That will be his self-care. He has been doing everything right, trying his absolute best not to fuck up like he did before. He should...he should do something fun. 

He rubs his eye as he lies there, clicking his earpiece quickly.

The automated messaging system picks up his call, greeting him. He shuts his eyes.

“Code 144,” Chanyeol says. “Employee CY754.”

 _Personal day logged,_ the system replies mechanically, and Chanyeol resets the clock. He’s going to sleep in. He’s going to enjoy himself today.

 

⚠

 

He wakes again a couple hours later, and already, he feels refreshed. He doesn’t sleep in too much anymore, even on Sundays: his new routine includes jogging, and it’s helped him shed weight. Not that that matters too much to him, to be honest, but he feels...more energetic. In a safe way. A way that doesn’t feel so heart-racing.

That Monday morning, though, he doesn’t jog. Instead, he stares at his ceiling for a while, cuddled up in his blankets, the warmth still soaking him through to the bone. He shuts his eyes, opens them again. Smiles to himself. He stretches, feet sticking out over the end of the bed as he tenses all over before letting go, curling back into a little ball. He feels like an alley cat who’s finally come inside.

He clicks the button on his earpiece, asks M for the weather.

“Currently, it is 7 degrees Celsius with partial sun. Today, you can expect mostly sunny weather, with a high of 10 degrees and a low of 6 degrees. In center-Seoul, the AQI is 412. Please utilize appropriate measures if outdoor activity is necessary.”

 _Sunny,_ he thinks with a smile. It will be a welcome change from the bitter cold.

He showers, the waterfall pouring down on him, and he takes longer than normal, really relaxing into it, letting the steam open his pores. He washes carefully, and when he dresses, he picks some of the new clothes that Sehun chose for him.

When he stands and faces himself in the mirror, smoothing down the sides of the shirt, he thinks he actually looks pretty good. Especially with the new hair. Sehun was right.

He walks to the sky station, wondering where he should go. There is a lot he hasn’t done in a while, a lot he hasn’t seen, and the flashing boards pop ideas into his head: the omni-theater, the new VR adventures they have running, the tournaments.

But then he sees a worn-down, beaten-up sign for the ruins. He smiles, thinking of his childhood. He gets on the nearest looper, takes the twenty-minute hyper-ride down to the dustbowl.

 

⚠

 

Stepping off, he’s immediately funneled into the welcome center. There is no one around, no one but him, and the whole place looks forgotten, near crumbling. Through the windows, he can see the winds whipping up smoke like small tornadoes.

There’s an old, old droid there, one that reminds him of things he saw in demonstrations at school when he was a kid. _Relics of the past_ , his teachers called them. He doesn’t remember the droid being so beaten-up when he visited a decade ago, but he guesses time takes its toll on everything.

“Welcome,” the jittery bot says.

“Hello,” Chanyeol says.

“If you have any questions, the help desk is to the right,” the bot says, the mechanical movements of its arm pointing off to the right.

Chanyeol follows with his eyes, finds the help desk long abandoned.

“The entrance to the grounds is to the left,” the bot says, pointing to the coated lead door. “Please be sure to wear a mask and a gown!”

Chanyeol watches the bot fall to sleep, barely alive, and he looks around the rest of the welcome center. There are shitty holograms for children, still flickering, but most everything is destroyed or unrecognizable.

He walks to the window. The land is barren, wiped clean save for the ash and dust. He grabs a gown, lets it sit heavily across him as he zips it up and over him, and then puts on a mask, just to be safe.

He pushes through the lead door and steps into the light.

Still, after all this time, nothing grows. It is haunting, the sight of it. Maybe it was morbid of him to have such a fascination with it as a child. He supposes he never truly understood. Maybe he still doesn’t.

Chanyeol walks to the lone structure still standing: the pillar. And on the pillar is a silver plaque, dusty and dirty. He brushes it clean as best he can.

 _We preserve these lands as a monument of our history,_ it reads. 

_May we reach into this irrevocable, littered past and learn from it. May we find healing, peace, and prosperity. May we never forget the roads we’ve walked. May we always reach for our brother’s hand. May we walk forward together._

Chanyeol lowers his head, about to say a quiet little prayer, but when he looks to the ground, he sees a crack in the bare earth. Flat green leaves emerge from the crevice, the lone speck of greenery in all of the greys and tans. They look weak, fragile, dull, and near death. But they are still there.

He shuts his eyes. Feels himself tear up at all of it. There is great pain in the world, but you don’t own all pain. You must only own yours and seek not to create more.

It is strange, undoubtedly, to walk away from such a place feeling optimistic, but when he goes back to the station as the lone rider in the looper car, he is imbued with a great sense of hope.

 

⚠

 

Walking down the stairs into the market and not seeing Jongin waiting for him is surreal. He shakes his head. _Don’t get upset over silly things._  

He moves stealthily past all the elders, and he hides as best he can as he goes past Minseo’s. Chanyeol hasn’t seen her in quite a while, but he doesn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, and he certainly doesn’t want to step on Jongin’s toes at all. Maybe some other time.

It’s been a while since he’s been to the market. He mostly orders the daily groceries he needs, and airdropping ingredients is so easy. If he needs something more special, the stores on the streets are there. It’s cleaner that way, but a part of him dearly misses the decay, the personality. Part of him calls for it. So he goes. Wanders. Sits on a bench and watches the people move in waves all around him. It’s humming with the noise, a busy Saturday.

Chanyeol sees all walks of life. Men, women, in-between. Children, young adults, older folks with bionic legs, oxygen sprayers in their noses. When he finally spies Baekhyun, he almost misses him. He looks different every time Chanyeol sees him.

His hair is red now, and it’s longer still, tied up in a high ponytail. It suits him in a way that it wouldn’t suit others. He has the disposition, Chanyeol guesses, to pull off weird styles. For lack of a better word, he’s cute.

Chanyeol doesn’t quite know if they are _friends_ , per se, but he knows that he likes Baekhyun, thinks he’s funny and talented, so he figures he ought to at least give it a shot. He pushes off the bench, walks quickly to cross the hall before Baekhyun gets away. Chanyeol shoots out his hand, grabs Baekhyun by the ratty sleeve of his jacket, and Baekhyun turns, a delighted smile on his face when he realizes who is grabbing him.

“Oh, hey!” Baekhyun says. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, I thought you might have moved or something.”

“Nah,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve just...you know, been around.”

“Not drinking as much as last time, I hope,” Baekhyun says, tutting. “Naughty boy.”

Chanyeol rubs the back of his neck, sheepish.

“Yeah, I was going through a rough patch, I guess,” Chanyeol says. “Sorry, if I—”

“No, no,” Baekhyun says. “You’re chizz. All goodie.”  

Chanyeol smiles, and Baekhyun smiles right back: easy.

“Where’s your friend?” Baekhyun says coyly, looking around as if Jongin will pop out from behind him.

“We, uh,” Chanyeol says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah,” Baekhyun thankfully interrupts, smirking. “You must be solo today. I like your style.”

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol laughs.

“Well, come on,” Baekhyun says, and he grabs Chanyeol by the arm. “I’ll let you buy me a fizzer.”

Chanyeol lets himself be led, smiling as the red-headed wonder winds his way through the underground.

 

⚠ 

 

Baekhyun pushes their drinks to the side, pulls out a rolled-up pad from his jacket pocket, lays it out flat on the table.

“Shit’s underrated,” Baekhyun says. “Really vintage sound. Here, listen.”

He stands up, reaches across, and Chanyeol momentarily flinches back.

“Sorry,” Baekhyun says sheepishly, before gesturing to Chanyeol’s ear. “Just wanted to…”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, “right."

Baekhyun’s fingers brush along the shell of Chanyeol’s ear carefully before he clicks the button on his earpiece, and it chimes.

“Synced?” Baekhyun asks as he sits back down.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“Chizz,” he says, staring down at the pad with the buttons. “Now watch.”

He presses a button and a hi-hat clinks in his ear. Chanyeol’s eyes widen.

“Right?” Baekhyun says. “Why’d people stop using this shit?”

Chanyeol closes his eyes, lets Baekhyun tap around on the little pad until he interrupts.

“I wanted to write something new,” Baekhyun says. “Would you maybe wanna help?”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “I dunno. I’m not really—”

“I’m not really either,” Baekhyun smiles. “But it’s just for fun.”

It isn’t just for fun, not so far as Chanyeol can tell: Baekhyun depends on it for his livelihood, lives in the underground and makes his money off of his voice. Still, Chanyeol can’t pretend like he hasn’t always wanted to do something like this. And if not now, he figures, _when_?

“Low bap, maybe. Some haegeum melodies for the hook,” he says, and fuck, Chanyeol is transfixed as Baekhyun messes around, pressing buttons like it’s nothing.

He is beautiful, even with his strange hair, even with the smudge of leftover makeup, even with his mouth left a purpled-blue from his fizzer. Chanyeol watches him tap, tap, tap. Watches him with what he soon realizes is fondness.

It sounds bad, sounds _awful_ actually, as Baekhyun starts to tinker around with the little soundboard. Chanyeol winces at a harpsichord twangs, laughs when Baekhyun looks at him questioningly.

“It’d...I think it’d work better with something like,” Chanyeol says, reaching forward, tapping on the pad until the beat in his head is ringing in his ear, “something like this.”

“Fuckin’ dizzy,” Baekhyun says, nodding along as Chanyeol pokes and prods. “Ooh. Do that again.”

They spend the rest of the day like that, working on beats and little melodies and words until Baekhyun walks him to the stairs and waves his goodbye.

“Stop by tomorrow,” Baekhyun says. “If you’re free, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I...I probably will be. In the evening...after work.”

“It’s a date,” Baekhyun says, smiling as he pulls Chanyeol into a hug.  

He pats him on the back before pushing him off towards the above ground.

“You know where to find me, scrub.”

Chanyeol goes without another word, walking up the steps one by one, a stupid grin on his face. He’s got another friend. A cool one, at that.

“Oh, Chanyeol!”

He turns at the call, and Baekhyun gestures to him.

“I dig the hair,” he says. “Looks fresh as fuck.”

 

⚠

 

Sehun calls him the next day as he’s walking home from the train after work.

“Hey, you want me to pick something up tonight?” he asks. “We can do that stupid gun arm anime.”

That is Sehun’s not-so-secret, coded way of telling Chanyeol he’d like to spoil him for the evening, and normally, it would be right up Chanyeol’s alley. But…

“I actually made plans with someone,” Chanyeol says.

“What? What did you just say?” Sehun asks. “I think my earpiece shorted out.”

“I said I have plans,” Chanyeol repeats.

“Oh,” Sehun says. “Oh my god. You...you have plans?”

“Yeah, it’s like when people agree to do something at a specific time,” Chanyeol says. “Usually in a friendly way.”

“I’m gonna kneecap you,” Sehun says. “With who? Who is people?”

“Just a guy I know,” Chanyeol says.

“Who is the guy? Does he have a name?” Sehun asks.

“He does,” Chanyeol says.

“Is this how it has to be?” Sehun asks.

Chanyeol sighs.

“His name is Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says. “We met a while ago. He sells his music in the underground market. Yesterday, we, like, met up and hung out. I don’t know.”

“You took off?” Sehun asks.

“Yeah, I like...I dunno, it was a personal day,” he says.

“Hey, you don’t need to explain it to me,” Sehun says. “I think it’s a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “It was nice. It felt, like, good.”

“Well, that’s, like, good,” Sehun says, and Chanyeol can hear the smile. “You’re doing okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I think I am.”

“You seem good,” Sehun says.

“I feel good. I’m trying to find, like, little bits of happiness wherever I can,” Chanyeol says. “In things that seemed menial or pointless before, if I let them seem like they’re...like they’re something special, then everything gets a little easier.”

“Hey,” Sehun says. “God, it seems like you’ve got things more figured out than I do at this point.”

Chanyeol scans into the building, and he passes by as the entry noise chirps.

“You home?” Sehun asks. “I’ll let you go.”

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol says. “I was just gonna go get changed before I went to meet him.”

“Oh,” Sehun says. “Oh, is it...are you—”

“Am I what?” Chanyeol asks.

“Never mind,” Sehun says. “Go, go. And, uh, I wanna meet this cat. See if he passes the smell test.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says. “Talk to you later.”

“Later,” Sehun says before tacking on a loud “ _Love you._ ”

“Love you,” Chanyeol says, and he heads up to his apartment, excited at the prospect of making music again, of seeing Baekhyun again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ being properly medicated and taking care of yourself really helps ♡ just a friendly reminder in case u needed a push. u are worthy of happiness! promise! 
> 
> with that said, we are officially in the home stretch here: just five chapters left! it seems like very few, but like, that will be spread out over a month + change so,,,,, we will start the new year by saying goodbye to this old hunk of scrap metal. 
> 
> thanks, as always, to my very good betas liz and nii who manage to polish aforementioned scrap metal into something readable. and thanks, as always, to you for reading. you truly make the world go round. all that sciencey garbage you've heard about the earth's rotation? horseshit. it's all you, mon frere. truly the strongest being in the galaxy. well, you and haechan. they dont call him full sun for nothin. 
> 
> that's enough of my rambling for this week. i really have to get a hold on this. i think its bc im exceedingly lonely. i just talk to myself in the end notes. but listen, you could be The One to relieve me of this loneliness. Come Chat! let's be friends. or not. whatever ur comfortable with, my sweet lil strawberry shortcake. 
> 
> have an excellent week ♡ be excellent ♡ let's acquire the carbohydrates or whatever the cool kids are saying these days ♡


	22. twenty two

His friendship with Baekhyun takes root over the next several months.

He goes to the underground after therapy, and normally, he spends the whole day there fucking around with Baekhyun. Sometimes he goes after work. Sometimes, Chanyeol invites him over, and they eat and dick around on the game system (which Baekhyun is surprisingly adept at for having no real experience with it). He becomes a fixture in conversations with Dr. Kang, even if it’s just to share something funny Baekhyun said.

They write song after song together. On Sundays, the two of them get lunch and then, once Baekhyun makes Chanyeol stick the little noise-canceller up on the ceiling, they find a quiet, run-down corner of the subway to record.

“Go ‘head,” he says, pressing the button mic into Chanyeol’s hand. “That low harmony.”

“I only _wrote_ it,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t wanna sing it.”

Baekhyun kicks him in the shin.

“You’ve got a way better lower register than I do,” Baekhyun says. “What, you want me to _starve_?”

“God, you’re so annoying,” Chanyeol says, lifting the mic to his mouth.

“From the second line in the chorus, if you please,” Baekhyun says smugly.

He sings through the part, and Baekhyun gives him an exaggerated thumbs-up, shooting excited finger guns in response. Chanyeol rolls his eyes as he sits.

“You’re really good,” Baekhyun praises. “How’d I get so lucky, stumbling into you?”

“I think you’re misremembering,” Chanyeol says. “I was the one who stumbled into you.”

Baekhyun goes all faux-shy, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I wanna do some, like, quiet, underlying, bam-bam-bam triplets in the pre-chorus,” Baekhyun orders. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s good,” Chanyeol says.

“Good, me too,” Baekhyun says.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol takes Sehun and Baekhyun to one of the sit-down restaurants along the strip of stores near his apartment. Baekhyun wears his hair up in a messy bun on top of his head, sporting some silly-looking bug-eyed glasses that are perfectly bizarre enough to fit his generally strange aesthetic. He went all out with his makeup, too, light reflecting off his brow and cheekbone as if he was trying to be seen from Jinbu 1.

Sehun looks him up and down, sneering. Chanyeol knew this was a bad idea.

“Fuck are you looking at?” Baekhyun grouses.

Sehun scoffs.  “Not much,” he says.

Chanyeol’s body tenses as if frozen in carbonite, and he keeps waiting for Baekhyun to leap across the table to tear Sehun’s throat out.

Instead, Baekhyun cracks into a fit of laughter that has Sehun begrudgingly smiling.

“He’s chizz,” Baekhyun says to Chanyeol, punching him in the shoulder.

“I’m _what_?” Sehun asks.

“You’re cool with me,” Baekhyun says. “So, Chanyeol’s told me a bit about you, but like, what, you guys have been best buddies forever?”

Sehun narrows his eyes.

“You’re quite the urchin,” Sehun says. “Where’d he find you, huh? Stuck to the bottom of someone’s boot?”

Baekhyun sits back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, an impressed look on his face.

“You’re kind of a bitch,” Baekhyun says.

“Yeah, well,” Sehun says, folding his arms across his chest.

Baekhyun stands at that, starts pulling at an alarmed Sehun.

“Wh-what the fuck are you doing?” Sehun asks, dragged to his feet in the middle of the crowded eatery.

“Giving a bitch a hug,” Baekhyun says, and they embrace, a confusing mess of enthusiastic and reluctant limbs. Chanyeol has never seen Sehun react so poorly to anyone before, so when he gives Chanyeol a _what the fuck_ look, Chanyeol just shrugs and smiles.

Sehun stares down at a pleased Baekhyun before patting him on the back twice and then wriggling out of his arms.

“There,” Baekhyun says. “Awkward bitch and his judgmental tendencies? Obliterated.”

“I swear to God,” Sehun says, but it’s interesting. He hasn’t left, and there’s a curve at his lips. It’s almost as if…

Baekhyun smiles back at him for a moment, eyes sliding up and down before flicking back to Chanyeol.

“Okay, I’m hungry. Should I go grab us something?” Baekhyun asks, craning his neck around to look for someone to talk to.

“Uh, it’s all...it’s all here,” Chanyeol says, and he double-taps the console at the center of the table until the menu is projected into the air between the three of them.

“Oh, slap me,” Baekhyun says in awe.

“You’ve never seen a TOS before?” Sehun asks, bewildered.

“Well, not all of us are rich bitches like you,” Baekhyun says, fascinated with the flipping pages.

Sehun frowns, and despite the racket of the restaurant, the table is quiet.

“Well, what do you guys want?” Sehun asks. “Tap it in.”

Chanyeol and Baekhyun make their orders, and when time comes to pay, the wrist reader shining red into the air, Sehun immediately sticks out his wrist before Chanyeol can try.

“Oh, don’t do me any favors,” Baekhyun says.

“Shut up,” Sehun says. “I’m sorry. I just...you know, whatever. I’m sheltered.”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun smiles. “I know. Apology accepted.”

The food rises from the collapsing center of the table, the steam rising into the air, the smell almost impossible to ignore.  

“Come on,” Baekhyun says, grabbing his plate. “What are you all waiting for?”

 

⚠

 

It’s late when they’re finished, and Sehun still eyes Baekhyun warily, but ultimately, they shake hands, and when Sehun offers to tap wrists for a copy of Baekhyun’s newest song, Baekhyun’s eyes go soft.

Chanyeol knows Sehun’s got a copy, knows it because _he_ gave it to him, but he doesn’t speak up, just smiles fondly as Baekhyun reaches into his pocket.

“'Kay,” Baekhyun says, tapping his wrist against Sehun’s after slipping the mini-micro into Sehun’s hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sehun says. “You’re good. Really good.”

“Ah, you’re too kind,” Baekhyun says, rubbing the back of his neck, genuinely shy for a change.

Sehun spares a smile: a real one, a pretty one.

“Okay,” Sehun says, taking a step back. “I’m gonna get a car.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “I’m gonna walk him back.”

“You go through Cheongdam?” Sehun asks.

“Yep,” Baekhyun says.

Sehun winces. “Smart move,” he says. “Ping me when you’re on your way home.”

“Don’t want baby to get stolen,” Baekhyun says, and he pinches Chanyeol on the cheek.

Sehun rolls his eyes, pressing his earpiece. “Itaewon to Hongdae,” he says.

“Later,” Chanyeol says, and they walk off with a wave.

They hear the car drop by only seconds after they turn, and after that, silence. It’s strange, on such an average night where there should be noise, but they only listen to the sound of their shoes against the pavement, scuffing. Chanyeol reaches up, scratches an itch that isn’t there.  

“We could get on a train,” Chanyeol offers.

“It’s a nice night,” Baekhyun says. “Do you mind the walk?”

“No,” Chanyeol says, “I don’t.”

“Okay.” Baekhyun smiles and takes Chanyeol’s hand in his. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.

“Okay.”

The silence settles into the cracks, the cracks of Chanyeol’s life, the spaces that he’s created, the spaces where he’s torn atom from atom in the ceramic. The darkness in the cracks is ugly, and he’s always sought to fill it with something. With someone. With anything. Anything.

But maybe it’s time to stop, he thinks. Maybe it’s time to just let the cracks be the cracks.

“I liked him,” Baekhyun says after a while, the blocks fading into each other. “If you were wondering, that is.”

“I was,” Chanyeol says.

“Well, that solves that, then, doesn’t it?” Baekhyun says softly.

“I guess it does.”

 

⚠

 

It’s fun, the way they write. They always eat and drink, usually in the midst of it all, and Baekhyun makes games out of it. He gives Chanyeol four chords, sets him up on the little touchpad keyboard, and then tells him he’s got sixty seconds to make something pretty.

Chanyeol likes to rise to the challenge, and sometimes Baekhyun’s eyes going wide is even better praise than he’s gotten from Sehun or Dr. Kang. He feels like this is something he was supposed to find, something that was buried inside him that he just had to dig deep enough to discover.

It’s almost dizzying, how _happy_ he is. Not the frantic, crazy happiness that used to feel like it was boiling him alive. Just happy. Just _good_. Sometimes, he convinces himself that he’s just waiting for the med-col to wear off, for the efficacy to plummet, but in those moments, he talks himself down, or, in the worst cases, he pings Sehun and gets him to set him straight.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the way Baekhyun becomes a set piece in his life. It’s not _all_ the time, because Chanyeol needs some time just to relax, Baekhyun’s constant presence a bit exhausting with his plentiful energy and ardor, but whenever he feels like he’s got an idea, whenever he feels like he’s got something to say, they say it together.

Until they can’t.

“Wait, where’s your pad?” Chanyeol asks.

“Oh,” Baekhyun says, and he scuffs his foot against the concrete as they walk. “It got nabbed. I gotta go get a new one.”

“What?” Chanyeol says. “Where?”

“Where do you think, you fucking nurmy?” Baekhyun says with a laugh. “Someone must have filched it when I was dozing.”

“That’s so fucking...God, that’s shitty,” Chanyeol says. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah, it’s chizz,” Baekhyun says loftily. “If they were stealing from me, they must have really needed it. And to be honest, I’ve been doing pretty well lately. Thanks to you.”

“Please,” Chanyeol scoffs.

“I’m serious,” Baekhyun says. “Like, I sold almost fifty copies of _Daydreams and Fears_.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “That’s—”

“That’s like double what I normally sell in person. And it’s doing even better on the cloud,” Baekhyun says, chest puffed out.

“You’ve taken my advice then?” Chanyeol smirks.

“Yes, oh Great One,” Baekhyun says. “Apparently, people like digital shit. Who would have thunk?”

“I hate you,” Chanyeol says.

“You love me, and that’s why you let me get away with making fun of you.”

 

⚠

 

Something about it doesn’t sit right with Chanyeol.

Baekhyun is good at masking how thin he is with the baggy clothes, but Chanyeol notices day by day that things get worse. They started bad, but the downhill slide is scary to watch. The gauntness of his face. The darkness under his eyes. Chanyeol has no choice but to bring it up. He’s worried.

“Well,” Baekhyun says casually, hands under his chin. “I guess I’ve never talked to you about this before, but...there’s kind of a hierarchy down here.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “And what does that entail?”

“It entails a fee if I wanna stay sheltered,” Baekhyun smiles. “Plus, the guy who sort of runs this place isn’t too keen on letting me slide. Which I’ve tried to do. Several times.”

“Oh my god, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says. “You gotta get out of there.”

“I’m fine,” Baekhyun says. “I’ve gotten good at defending myself.”

He whips out a pocket knife, flipping it around in his hand as if to demonstrate his skill.

“People steal from you constantly,” Chanyeol says. “Have you ever threatened anyone in your life?”

“Well, not exactly,” Baekhyun says. “But I’ve always had the money to pay, so I never felt right saying no.”

“But you’re…,” Chanyeol says. “If you ever wanted to leave, you’d have to start saving.”

“I’m getting by fine,” Baekhyun says, but his eyes, they sing a different song.

“You’re not,” Chanyeol says.

Baekhyun smiles again, his _oh, this dundhead_ smile, before caressing Chanyeol’s cheek gently.

“It’s very sweet that you’re concerned,” Baekhyun says. “But I’ve been doing this my whole life, baby. And I’m still here, aren’t I?”

 _Barely,_ Chanyeol thinks. Not for much longer, Chanyeol worries.

And he’s gotta do something. He _has_ to.

 

⚠

 

He runs his plan by Sehun, as he’s wont to do.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon?” Sehun asks.

“I’ve known him for a while now,” Chanyeol says. “And he’s stayed over plenty of times before, when the weather is too bad to walk back. I mean, he doesn’t have a good mask. He can’t go out when the smoke is too bad. He doesn’t even have an earpiece. I mean, like, fuck, it’s amazing he’s still alive.”

“God,” Sehun says, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“I just wanted to...I don’t know, I wanted to do something nice for him,” Chanyeol says. “He’s so fucking skinny. I mean, you’ve seen him. He’s all bones even if he doesn’t let anyone see it.”

Sehun frowns.

“This isn’t gonna be bad for you, is it?” Sehun asks. “You’ve thought this through?”

“I have,” Chanyeol says. “I mean, we're already close enough that I gave him wrist access to the apartment. And I think...I think he just needs the chance to get back on his feet.”

Sehun smiles sadly, pulls Chanyeol into his arms.

“That’s a really, really nice thing you’re planning on doing,” Sehun says. “But he’s not a charity case. You know he doesn’t like that shit. And you don’t have to—”

“I’m not,” Chanyeol says. “I just like him. And I think he deserves the chance. You liked the music, didn’t you?”

“You know I do,” Sehun says.

“So think of it as a business partnership,” Chanyeol offers.

“A business partnership where one provides room, board, and talent, and the other mooches?” Sehun says.

Chanyeol shoves him out of the hug, sees a smile on Sehun’s face.

“If things gets weird,” Sehun says, poking a warning finger into Chanyeol’s chest, “you kick that fucker back onto the street. I don’t care what puppy eyes he gives you. No nonsense.”

“None whatsoever,” Chanyeol agrees.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol approaches Baekhyun the next evening.

“Hey,” Baekhyun says when Chanyeol happens onto his spot, makeshift bedding strewn about, and Baekhyun scrambles to his feet. “Did I forget? Are we hanging out?”

“If you wanted to,” Chanyeol says. “But, uh, I came for a reason. I just...I had a proposition.”

Baekhyun smirks, and he walks over, feet tapping along the tile. He drags a finger down Chanyeol’s chest.

“What kinda proposition, hot stuff?” Baekhyun asks.

“Shut up,” Chanyeol laughs, shoving him away. “I wanted to see if you’d maybe wanna stay in my spare room.”

They’d already started keeping some of the more expensive equipment there, the shit that Chanyeol has since invested in, so really, it’s their studio. Baekhyun should be able to stay if he needs to.

But Baekhyun’s face falls.

“Ah,” Baekhyun says. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He can’t say he didn’t expect it, so he’s prepared himself for the eventuality.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that you had a place to stay if things ever got bad.”

He scuffs his shoe against the floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything,” Chanyeol says. “I thought it would be nice to offer.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Baekhyun says, shaking it off without a moment's notice. “Let’s, uh, let’s hang here today. We can just maybe write some lyrics or something.”

Chanyeol sits next to him, and they write. And even though it didn’t work out, he thinks he’s glad he offered. Better to act than to think of acting, he figures.

 

⚠

 

He is at his kitchen table eating noodles when he hears the door slide open.

He immediately clicks his ear-piece, surreptitiously trying to call emergency services, but before he can get past the first prompt, Baekhyun jumps out from around the corner, sporting two Dutch braids and a black eye.

“Hey, roomie,” Baekhyun says cheerfully.

Chanyeol throws his chopsticks to the table, crosses to him within what feels like a nanosecond.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” Chanyeol asks.

“Oh, just got in a little scuffle, you know me,” Baekhyun says, holding a refuse bag at his side. “Very rough and tumble individual.”

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says.

“Hey, I’m taking you up on this, aren’t I?” Baekhyun says. “Now chill.”

Chanyeol smiles.

“Is that what all this is?” Chanyeol asks, gesturing to the bag.

“Yes,” Baekhyun says, shaking the bag limply. “All my worldly possessions.”

“Well,” Chanyeol says, “let me show you where you can put them. And then I’ll get you something to eat.”

“And a fucking shower,” Baekhyun says. “God, I must reek.”

 

⚠

 

The best parts of life, Chanyeol decides, are sinking into comfortable rhythms, reliable cadences that start to mimic the beating of your heart. When you start to find homes in people, in their verbal tics and their quirks and their undeniably strange beauty, that’s when things start to feel right.

“Get your ass over here,” Baekhyun says, waving from the couch, hair all tied up in a crazy knot, specs on. “I’m finally getting the hang of this shit.”

Chanyeol sets his bag down, takes off his shoes, and walks over, delighted to see Baekhyun swiping through the air on a beginning stage of _Farcraft_.

“This is your shit, right?” Baekhyun says, laser-focused on blasting the asteroids as he zips through the hyperspeed portion of the level.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, smiling as he sits. “There’s a free life if you…”

And Chanyeol reaches out, takes Baekhyun’s right hand in his left as he swerves the ship to the side, dipping back behind a particularly large rock to glide through a purple waypoint.  

“Oh, chizz!” Baekhyun says happily, squeezing Chanyeol’s hand in his. “Look at you. You’re so good at this.”

Chanyeol watches, the familiar images flitting by, and he leans back, hands behind his head.

“Have a good day?” Baekhyun asks.

“Yeah, not bad,” Chanyeol says. “What about you?”

“Pretty good. Stupid quiet, though,” Baekhyun says. “I’m not used to it yet.”

“Well, it hasn’t been that long,” Chanyeol says. “You’ll come around to it.”

“Unlikely,” Baekhyun says. “For I am the noise.”

He sweeps through the goal, through to the battle stage, and he whoops loudly.

“How ‘bout that, huh?” Baekhyun asks, flipping up his specs to smirk at Chanyeol proudly.

“Yes, I’m very impressed,” Chanyeol says, and he can’t help but smile as he remembers the first time Jongin smashed through his record, going on to set all his PRs on fucking fire.

“What are you laughing about?” Baekhyun says, shoving him.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol says. “Just thinking.”

 

⚠

 

If they were productive before living together, Chanyeol doesn’t know quite what to call this. They have a good working relationship, crazy productive but never serious enough to drain the fun from it. Baekhyun will wake him sometimes in the middle of the night, and even though Chanyeol will grumble, he spends the darkest hours listening to what they’ve made, and the pride surges through him.

That doesn’t mean they never argue, though.

“I wrote some lyrics today,” Baekhyun says, peeling the top of his pomelo open.

“Oh, nice,” Chanyeol says. “You wanna see if you think they’ll work with any of the beats we did yesterday?”

“I think that slow jammy one,” Baekhyun says.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says before smirking at him. “You meeting a lot of interesting folks on the way back from the produce place?”

“Why don’t you just sit there and eat your food, you little bitch,” Baekhyun says, and he chucks a balled-up scrap of the chartreuse citrus skin over.

Luckily, Chanyeol is quick enough to snatch it out of the air before it brains him.

He stands up, ready to throw it back with all the force he can muster, but Baekhyun shrinks into his seat.

“I yield, I yield,” he screeches, arms thrown over his face as if to shield himself. “Don’t hurt me. I’m an orphan.”

“You idiot. I’m also an orphan,” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah, but I got beat up,” Baekhyun says. “I was _abused_.”

“I was a _drug addict_ ,” Chanyeol says.

“I was _homeless_ ,” Baekhyun says.

Chanyeol frowns.

“Hah,” Baekhyun says, pumping his fist triumphantly. “I win.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, and he drops the rind to the table, choosing instead to ruffle Baekhyun’s hair, meticulously ironed.

“You...you fucker!” Baekhyun exclaims. “This took an hour.”

“Poor thing,” Chanyeol says. “Look at it this way, you can always add it to the list of your misfortunes.”

“You know what, you’re right,” Baekhyun says cheerfully. “Thank you.”

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol can tell that, even though Baekhyun settles into the apartment, he is uncomfortable with the arrangement. Even if his emotions weren’t overt, practically tattooed and glowing on his skin, he is always vocal. _Incredibly_ vocal.

“I won’t take it,” Chanyeol says, fingers wrapped around his own wrist.

“I have all this money now,” Baekhyun says. “I should be paying you for room and board.”

“Please,” Chanyeol says. “Save it.”

“You’re being rude,” Baekhyun says. “I have pride, you know.”

“Do something productive with your time instead of bitching at me,” Chanyeol says.

Baekhyun furrows his brow, like he’s trying to figure out his next move, like he thought for a second Chanyeol might take the money. _Not on your life,_ Chanyeol thinks. If he’s going to help someone, he isn’t going to do it half-assed.

“Apartments are expensive,” Chanyeol says.

“And I’ll never have enough to get one,” Baekhyun says.

“You might,” Chanyeol says, “if you save.”

“You…you really don’t mind?” Baekhyun asks, like it’s a confusing concept.

“I wouldn’t have invited you if I minded,” Chanyeol says. “The whole point was to help.”

Baekhyun looks down.

“But, like, why?”

“Why?” Chanyeol asks. “Because I wanted to.”

Baekhyun snaps his head up, and the look in his eyes is like nothing Chanyeol has ever seen from him before, reminiscent of when Baekhyun turned him down in the underground, but cranked up to eleven, twelve. He looks serious. A bit angry. Shut down.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says flatly. “But why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Chanyeol says. “You’re...you’re my friend.”

“So you’re saying you don’t expect anything of me,” Baekhyun says, raising his eyebrows, “in exchange?”

“I already told you I want you to save,” Chanyeol says.

Baekhyun folds his arms, rolls his eyes.

“Not money,” Baekhyun says. “Something else.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Uh. No. That’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Baekhyun says. “No bullshit?”

“No bullshit,” Chanyeol says.

Baekhyun looks back down again.

“Are you—did I do something wrong?” Chanyeol asks.

Baekhyun meets his eyes, and Chanyeol sees him smile despite the tears that well in his eyes.

“I’m just kinda surprised,” Baekhyun says. “I mean, I’m not stupid, you know? People always want something, which is why I don’t like getting into these types of things. I don’t wanna owe anybody anything.”

Chanyeol keeps his mouth shut, just sucks in a breath as Baekhyun steps forward.

“I never got that feeling from you,” Baekhyun says. “But I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I kept waiting for you to, I don’t know, turn out to be a fucking creep or a stalker or an asshole, but you’re just...you’re just you.”

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, “I think.”

Baekhyun grins, silly, and he steps into Chanyeol’s arms.

“Thank you,” Baekhyun says. “I...I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Chanyeol says.

Baekhyun says nothing for a moment, just breathes in, breathes out. Chanyeol lets him soak up the quiet, soaks some of it up himself.

“Thank you,” Baekhyun says.

“You’re welcome,” Chanyeol says. “And thank _you_.”

Baekhyun worms his way out of the embrace, shooting Chanyeol a look of disbelief.

“Are you insane?” Baekhyun asks. “I mean, apart from the obvious.”

Chanyeol pinches him on the back of the neck sharply.

“Ow, ow,” Baekhyun whines. “You’re so evil.”

Chanyeol smiles.

“Seriously,” Baekhyun says. “I...I’ve done nothing for you.”

“You’ve done more than you think,” Chanyeol says. “I…”

He thinks back, back to when he first heard Baekhyun’s music. That chance meeting that’s seemingly changed his life for the better, the shiver that ran through him when he thought about what he could do to make the music better.

“I really appreciate you letting me help. With the music. And...and with this,” Chanyeol says, trying to say it as succinctly as he can.

Baekhyun laces his arms around Chanyeol’s neck, pulls him down into the hug.

“Anything for you, baby,” Baekhyun says.

 

⚠

 

“How’s Baekhyun?” Dr. Kang asks.

“He’s doing well,” Chanyeol says, nodding.

“That’s great to hear,” Dr. Kang says. “All’s been well with him?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “We get along really well. I mean, we argue, but it’s...I don’t know, it’s never mean arguing. Just like—”

“Bantering?” Dr. Kang suggests.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Like messing around.”

“Your friendship has certainly blossomed over the past several months,” she notes. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Aren’t they all?” Chanyeol jokes, and she kicks out the tip of her heel to nudge against his leg.

“Feel free to not answer,” Dr. Kang says. “But have you considered your romantic feelings towards Baekhyun?”

“Uh,” Chanyeol says. “Not really.”

“It seems as though you like him quite a bit,” she says. “You offered him to stay in your home, you help him with his music, you never ask for money.”

“He’s my friend,” he says.

“Have you ever thought about him as more than that?” Dr. Kang asks.

And truth be told, he hasn’t.

“No,” he says. “Not really.”

“Okay,” she says, holding her hands up. “Just wanted to probe a bit.”

“No, it’s—I guess it’s a holdover,” Chanyeol says. “From before.”

“Before?”

“Before when I was...when I was worried about getting attached,” he says.

Dr. Kang looks at him like she can see into him, and she sits back in her chair.

“You need a better way of framing Jongin in your head,” Dr. Kang says.

_Jongin?_

“What?”

She folds her hands.

“This goes back to our conversations about addictions,” Dr. Kang says. “Jongin is a person, correct?”

“Correct.”

“So we need to frame him as such,” she says. “He is not a drug. You may have clung to him and used him, but he is a person, same as you or me. There is nothing wrong with genuine connection. That is not the gateway to addiction.”

“Right,” Chanyeol says. “Yeah, no...you’re right.”

“I think you were perhaps predisposed to those unhealthy levels of obsession or addiction,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t relearn how to treat people. How to understand Jongin, and perhaps others at a schematic level.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, furrowing his brow with the thought.

He always...it was subconscious, he never _intentionally_ framed Jongin that way, but she’s right. He has to unlearn. Relearn.

Dr. Kang leans forward again.

“I understand,” she says. “The inclination to stay away from all this, from love and intimacy because it’s scary. Because you think you’ll get too deep again. But know that, even from a professional standpoint, I have seen you grow and change. And you should know, Chanyeol, that you always have been and always will be more than your illness.”

Tears spring to his eyes, unbidden but not unwelcome, and he lets them fall. Unafraid to show her that she has affected him.

He’s never thought about Baekhyun that way. Should he?

 

⚠

 

They are in the midst of a song of forlorn love when Baekhyun leans over Chanyeol’s shoulder, studying the screen. Chanyeol can feel the warmth of him at this distance, and Chanyeol is glad. Baekhyun has been putting on weight in the past month or so, and Chanyeol can see it in his cheeks now. He looks healthy. Happy. Chanyeol studies him carefully as Baekhyun studies the notes.

Baekhyun is objectively handsome, especially now. He practically glows in the yellow light of the studio. He is talented, unbelievably so. His voice can break through nearly anything, crisp and clear and lyrical but can still pack a punch. He’s strong of character, of spirit, and he’s never failed to brighten Chanyeol’s day. Could he develop feelings for Baekhyun? Would he?

Baekhyun looks over. Smiles as he leans in.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol asks.

“You looked like you wanted to kiss me,” Baekhyun says. “So I was gonna kiss you first.”

Chanyeol wheels back, putting some distance between them.

“I don’t know that...that I’m ready to pursue any kind of romantic relationship with anyone right now,” Chanyeol stutters.

Baekhyun leans back on his own.

“Who said anything about a romantic relationship?” Baekhyun asks.

And that...that gives Chanyeol pause.

“I guess no one did,” he says.

“Right,” Baekhyun says, and he closes the gap, the gap they both contributed to, and he moves in for a kiss.

Takes one.

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” Baekhyun says, mouth against Chanyeol’s. “It can just be this.”

Chanyeol has never been very good at keeping his feelings out of matters of sex, but for a while, at least, he figures he can give it a shot.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and he leans into the half-kiss, makes it full when he licks along Baekhyun’s lips.

They fall into bed, just as easily as Baekhyun fell into his life. And his kisses taste like fizzers, like effervescence, rising to the top. Bursting into the air.  

 

⚠

 

With the new development in their relationship, as much as he thought that things might change between them, they do not. Baekhyun does not treat him as a lover, or if he does, it is only for the moments that they are wrapped in each other and the moments immediately after. The sex feels like their writing, their singing, their composition. It feels like a game, like they’re challenging each other to do better and better, to enjoy it more and more.

“That—,” Baekhyun says, collapsing back into the mattress, “I don’t know who taught you that, but I want to buy them a drink.”

Chanyeol smiles, wipes at his mouth.

He lies back next to Baekhyun, and they don’t talk. It’s nice, just basking in it for a while. They’ve passed the point where they need to fill every silence, and it’s good, Chanyeol thinks. A sign that they’ve become better friends. Chanyeol almost feels like they’re getting to the point where they can read each other’s thoughts, finish each other’s sentences, but sometimes, of course, Baekhyun can surprise him.

“I don’t wanna make you talk about it,” Baekhyun says, staring at Chanyeol’s ceiling, “but I just wanna know one thing.”

A million, billion questions run through Chanyeol’s head, and he tries his level best not to let the anxiety swell in his stomach.

Baekhyun turns onto his side, the curving line of his body alluring. Chanyeol reaches out on instinct, runs his fingertips along it. Baekhyun smiles.

“You still love him, right?” he says.

Chanyeol hesitates.

“You’re not gonna hurt my feelings by telling me the truth,” Baekhyun says. “You know how we are.”

Chanyeol breathes.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says. “It’s complicated.”

Baekhyun flops onto his back with a laugh, and he grabs Chanyeol by the hand.

“Don’t I know it, sugar plum,” Baekhyun says. “What’s got you tangled?”

“I think maybe...maybe I’ll always love him,” Chanyeol says. “And maybe the first time I didn’t know how I was supposed to love him, I let myself get carried away. But if I got another shot, I’d—well, I would do things differently.”  

Baekhyun rubs his thumb along Chanyeol’s.

“Is that stupid?” Chanyeol asks.

“Nah,” Baekhyun says. “It’s not stupid.”

“Should I not have said that?” Chanyeol asks.

“I’m glad you did,” Baekhyun says, and he squeezes Chanyeol’s hand in his. “We’re chizz. Always. And I love you, baby, I do, but I’m not really what anyone would call boyfriend material.”

Chanyeol smiles, gathers Baekhyun into his arms and kisses him on the forehead.

“Stop, stop,” Baekhyun giggles before flopping against the bed dramatically, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. “Oh, Park Chanyeol, you’re so _romantic_ , I think I might just fall in _love_.”

“God, shut up,” Chanyeol says. “You ruin everything.”

They hold each other: skin on skin, heart against heart. Baekhyun doesn’t ruin everything. Sometimes, he feels like the rain, cool against Chanyeol. They may not be perfect for each other, but still, it’s good in the meantime.

 

⚠

 

“You should sing that again,” Chanyeol says, tapping on his earpiece to listen to the raw playback. It’s pitchy. Baekhyun has that tendency sometimes, when he’s really feeling something. The emotions leak into the lyrics, and then he gets sharp. Chanyeol winces.

“Fuck you, it was perfect,” Baekhyun scoffs.

“You can’t hear shit,” Chanyeol says, playing it once more. “You don’t have an earpiece.”

“As if that precludes me from having ears,” Baekhyun says. “You fuckers, with your _earpieces_ and your _masks_. Back in my day, we used to listen to things through something called an ear drum.”

“Listen, just because—”

“ _Just because_ technology exists doesn’t mean it’s better,” Baekhyun says, raising his voice.

“You’re being a bitch again,” Chanyeol says.

“Maybe _you’re_ being the bitch,” Baekhyun says, hands on his hips. “Huh, ever thought about that? Dunderhead? Nurmy piece of shit.”

“Put the headphones on, and do it again before I kick you out of my fucking apartment,” Chanyeol says.

“Yes, sir,” Baekhyun says, clicking his heels together as he throws the headphones back on.

“Asshole,” Chanyeol whispers under his breath.

“I can hear you through these,” Baekhyun yells.  

 

⚠

 

They still go to the underground to sell music. Baekhyun is the brains of the operation, and the face of course, but Chanyeol goes for moral support. He’s never been the best with talking to people, so he does what he does best.

“We do better digitally,” Chanyeol says, tapping at Baekhyun’s pad.

“Yeah, I get it, you’re a genius and you feed me,” Baekhyun says.

“That’s not what I said,” Chanyeol says. “I just think you should invest in more digital marketing. You can’t possibly reach everyone here.”

Baekhyun spins around, narrowing his eyes.

“This is where I started,” Baekhyun says. “Have you no respect for my past? For the emotional connection of it all?”

“Is the emotional connection of it all paying bills?” Chanyeol asks.

“I hate you and everything you stand for, Park Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says, turning up his nose.

“You embarrass me,” Chanyeol says.

“ _I know,_ ” Baekhyun sings, a loud and _louder_ belt that grabs the attention of the people moving about the market. He ends it in several runs, and the people move toward him, clamoring for more.

There’s a magnetism about Baekhyun, and maybe that’s why he’s here, on his day off. Baekhyun is easy to care about. And maybe that’s why Chanyeol hasn’t felt like as much time has passed as it has.

 

⚠

 

“ _Fucking_ ,” Baekhyun says, “holy shit.”

Chanyeol pokes his head up and out from under the covers.

“What?”

“I sold...holy shit, Chanyeol, oh my God, this—”

“What?” Chanyeol asks, and he scrambles to sit up in bed as Baekhyun pokes at his handheld.

“It’s a mistake,” Baekhyun says. “It’s gotta be.”

“How many?” Chanyeol says. “What’s it say?”

“It says...eight hundred,” Baekhyun says. “Eight hundred and fifty-four. Fifty-five. Fifty-six.”

“And you charge...what, twenty-five hundred?” Chanyeol says.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says. “Yeah, I’m—”

“Baekhyun, I think you got yourself a hit,” Chanyeol says. “Got any comments yet?”

Baekhyun holds his hand to his mouth, eyes shining. 

“ _Release the past six together on a mini,_ ” Baekhyun says, and his voice sounds pulled taut. “ _Thank you for sharing. This is so good. I’m glad Kyungsoo sent me here. Thanks, Soo. Thank you for this. This is great. I’m in love. Kyungsoo was right._ ”

“Who’s Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol asks.

Baekhyun reaches out, smacks him on the head.

“ _Who’s Kyungsoo,_ ” Baekhyun mocks. “He’s a stupid successful indie singer. And he...he knows about me? Somehow?”

“Oh, that’s good then, right?” Chanyeol says. “Is he good?”

“ _Is he good_ ,” Baekhyun mocks again, and then he’s throwing himself across the bed, landing on Chanyeol with a huff, kissing him messily as he clicks Chanyeol’s earpiece. “M, play  _Syndicates_ by Kyungsoo.”

“ _Syndicates_ by Kyungsoo, starting now,” the hub responds.

A bass line fills the room, drum and keyboard accompanying it, and it’s sexy and soft, and Baekhyun kisses down the side of Chanyeol’s neck.

“This get you in the mood?” Chanyeol asks.

“Just wait ‘til he starts singing,” Baekhyun says, smiling, and he captures Chanyeol in another kiss, albeit longer, lazier, lovelier.  

 

⚠

 

There is no one home.

For the past, well, he hasn’t even been keeping track, but it’s at least been three or four months...so for the past three or four months, he’s always come home to someone.

But that evening, there is no one home.

“Baekhyun?”

But there is no one to answer.

He bides his time playing games, showering, reading until Baekhyun returns, hat shoved over his head.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says. “All good. Wanna work on the new track?”

“Sure,” Chanyeol says.

 

⚠

 

Baekhyun doesn’t have much, but what he does have is packed in a refuse bag in the living room, sitting next to it as he lounges on the couch.

“What’s all this?” Chanyeol asks.

“My garbage,” Baekhyun says. “I’ve been getting in your hair for long enough.”

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, frowning. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do shit,” Baekhyun says. “But I’m heading out, okay?”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

Baekhyun stands, crosses to him. He takes Chanyeol’s cheek in his hand.

“You know what this is, right?” Baekhyun says.

“No,” Chanyeol says.

“It’s time for us to stop fucking around, I think,” Baekhyun says.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Okay.”

It’s not as though Chanyeol didn’t know something like this wasn’t possible: whether it is by nature or by choice, Baekhyun is not someone to root deeply within the earth. Still, he can’t say he isn’t surprised. They were doing so well together, and they were making such good music. _Why mess with success?_

“We had a good run, didn’t we?” Baekhyun says, smiling. “It’s run its course, though, for the both of us. We’ll never be right for each other. And we never pretended like this was something special.”

Chanyeol wants to argue, so he does.

“It was,” Chanyeol says. “At least to me.”

“Ah, you’re too fucking sweet,” Baekhyun says, grabbing Chanyeol by the neck. “One for the road.”

He kisses Chanyeol softly, and it tastes like the lip oil Baekhyun uses, tastes like friendship, tastes like yesterday.

Chanyeol smiles. He’s learned to love Baekhyun, but he wants what’s best for him. If he feels he’s moved on, like he needs to leave, then...then Chanyeol is happy for him. Happy he could help.

Because if this is what Baekhyun wants, then it’s what he wants too.

“Swing by the market tomorrow,” Baekhyun says. “We can finish up _Affliction_. I don’t think there’s much left. Maybe just a quick polish.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.

“Later, dund,” Baekhyun says with a grin and a wave.

“Bye,” Chanyeol says. “Stay safe.”

And just as easily as Baekhyun came, he goes, leaving Chanyeol with the distinct and undeniable feeling that he could do this again. He can love someone. He’s not broken. No.

The cracks of him have been filled in with gold. They are not something to hide. They never were. They have been made beautiful. Gilded.

Or maybe the cracks were always something beautiful. Maybe the gold has simply allowed him to see the light in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one quick note this week before i get to anything else: this was something that has touched a few nerves over the past week, so i wanted to address it here. i know its all just fanfic but, to me, this story is about more than just a ship. i know that might seem self-important of me to say, and it probably is, but reducing it to nothing more than “who is gonna end up with who” is very hurtful. i have spent a lot of time and mental energy on this, and the only thing i’ll ever ask in return (aside from like, letting me know if you like it) is for you to treat me with respect. i’ll always try my best to do the same for you, and im very sorry if you feel i havent been doing so. i’ll try harder. 
> 
> that being said, this story is tagged the way it is for a reason, and it has been since the very beginning. if that upsets you, please do not continue reading, for your well-being and for mine. 
> 
> okay, back to normally scheduled programming: thanks for reading. i hope u enjoyed! kind of a long one bc it basically encapsulated the rise and fall of a relationship ksdjakgj but wow four chapters left AH, it seems crazier each and every week. thank you to liz and nii for their constant hard work and cheerleading, i love u both so much. 
> 
> ik that yesterday and today may have been tough for you as they were for me, so let's be strong for each other. try and find solace in whatever you can. we’ll make it through together, gingersnap. 
> 
> i may postpone the next update until wednesday since i will be celebrating christmas on tuesday, but who knows, maybe not. i hate messing up a schedule. i’ll keep you updated on twitter (@wolfsupremacist), even tho it probably makes no difference to you. 
> 
> alright, have a good week, babies. love u muchly


	23. twenty three

His favorite thing to make are energy biscuits. He makes them on Sunday nights, and he eats them every morning before work with his coffee. They are delicious—even Sehun says so—and they’re sweetened with brown sugar and spiced with cinnamon. He dips them in his coffee until they soften just a touch. They aren’t much to look at, but he makes them on his own, so he’s proud of them. 

He makes music. Not just for Baekhyun, either. He makes his own stuff too, stuff that’s maybe too weird or too personal to sell. He writes a lot about what he’s been through, what he’s sorry for, what he wants to make right. He keeps them on mini-micros, and sometimes he’ll let Sehun and Baekhyun listen. It’s not that he’s ashamed. In fact, he’s proud of them too. But some things are better kept private, held closely to the chest.

He runs every morning. He takes baths when he needs a bit of relaxation. He still goes to work, still plays video games, still follows his med-col. Still talks to Dr. Kang. Still sees his friends. 

It occurs to him that it’s been quite a while since he last lived alone, almost always having someone to fill the spare room with their presence: first Jongin, then Sehun, then Baekhyun. But now, he decides, he’ll keep the spare room as the studio. He likes it this way, he finds: the silence mixing with so, so much noise. 

 

⚠

 

He’s avoided her for five months, the weather going from cold to hot back to cold again. It’s been long enough, and he’s sure that he’ll get a tongue-lashing for keeping his distance. 

Still, he thinks, shoving a hat on his head,  _ better late than never _ . 

Chanyeol walks to the underground, down the stairs, and heads to the familiar booth. 

Minseo stares up at him from her chair, a scowl on her face. 

“Yes?” she prompts. 

“Uh,” Chanyeol says, “hi.” 

She turns her head to the side, ignoring him.

"You, uh, you got some cool new pieces," Chanyeol says, pointing to the chimes that hang from the ceiling. 

Minseo does not respond. 

“Okay, I get it,” Chanyeol says. “I'm sorry. I’ll buy, uh, I’ll buy one of your things.” 

“Hush,” Minseo says. “Silly child.” 

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and he stares at his shoes.

He stands there feeling properly scolded for a minute before she addresses him. 

“Did you marry him?” Minseo asks. 

“What?” Chanyeol says, shooting his eyes up to get a good look at her. “No, of course not.” 

“Then you  _ haven’t _ gotten a divorce, and I’m  _ not  _ an object to be settled between you both,” Minseo says.

“Don’t be like that,” Chanyeol says. “I was trying to give him space.” 

“Well, I’m hurt,” Minseo says, and she folds her arms. 

“He knew you first!” Chanyeol says. 

“And I knew you second!” Minseo says. “What exactly is your point, you stupid boy?” 

“I...I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, and he takes a step back. Scratches his head. 

“That’s your problem,” she says, wagging her finger at him. “You never think.” 

He stands there, watching until the smile breaks on her face. 

“It’s been months,” Minseo says. “Come here.” 

Chanyeol crosses to her, closes the gap, and as he does, she opens her arms. He goes to her, into her arms, and she holds him tight. 

“Don’t ever be that silly again,” Minseo says. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” she whispers back, patting him across the back. 

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol goes and fetches lunch for them, something simple from the jjigae shop. He brings it back, and Minseo points to an extra chair. He pulls it up next to her and hands her the container. 

“Thank you,” she says, all pleased. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“You guilt-tripped me for twenty minutes straight,” Chanyeol says.

“That’s my job, sweetheart,” Minseo says, and she pats his knee. “Eat. You look so skinny now.” 

When Chanyeol lifts the lid and the scent pours up into the air, he needs no more encouragement. He sips at the broth, and warmth floods him. It feels like home. 

“I’m eating, see,” Chanyeol says. “I’m just taking better care of myself.” 

“Hm,” she says critically before slurping from her bowl. “I suppose. I saw you running around with that hanger.” 

“Oh my god,” Chanyeol says, slapping a hand across his forehead. 

“You think you’re so smart,” she says, jabbing him with her spoon. "So clever and sneaky." 

“Clearly I’m not,” Chanyeol says. 

“Is he a good boy?” Minseo asks. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “He is.” 

“Good,” Minseo says. “I thought so.” 

They eat, and Chanyeol suffers through the heat because he knows he will be made fun of for any weakness. It’s nice, though, being back with Minseo. She reminds him of his grandmother, and getting to spend the afternoon with her is a welcome change from his new routines.  _ Maybe _ , he thinks,  _ this could fit in somewhere to the new routine. _

“Have you spoken to Jongin?” she asks. 

“No,” Chanyeol says, wiping at his mouth. “No, I thought maybe—” 

“He’s been going through a lot,” she tells him. 

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Good or…?” 

She doesn’t say more, just eats her jjigae in silence as if to say  _ you figure it out, you fool _ . 

 

⚠

 

For the past five weeks, since Baekhyun moved out, Sehun, Baekhyun, and he have had a standing date on Saturday nights to go get food at a new, weird place each time. Usually, with most people staying at home to plug into the live show, the only thing Chanyeol knew was appointment viewing for the vast majority, places were dead. 

“I like it this way,” Sehun says, and he leans back in his chair. “We can be annoying this way.” 

“True,” Chanyeol says, “though it’s not like a crowded restaurant ever stopped you before.” 

“Shut up,” Sehun says, and he throws a balled-up napkin at Chanyeol, who catches it before tossing it back. “You wanna order?” 

“Baekhyun isn’t here yet,” Chanyeol says, and he bites his lip. “He should be here by now.” 

“Oh,” Sehun says. “Uh, yeah, he’s not coming tonight.” 

“What?” Chanyeol says. “Why?” 

“Said he was busy,” Sehun says, and he bites at his nail. 

“Oh, okay,” Chanyeol says, and then it clicks.  _ How? _ “Wait, when did you talk to him?” 

“I ran into him earlier,” Sehun says, and he scratches at his cheek. 

“Where?” Chanyeol asks. 

“A-at the market? Jeez, what’s with the interrogation?” Sehun asks. “You wanna eat or not?” 

“I guess so,” Chanyeol says, and he pulls up the menu, only for Sehun to rock forward and start entering his order for him. 

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol packs a box of energy biscuits for Baekhyun, the same way he always does, and he heads over early before work to deliver them. 

When he gets there, however, Baekhyun is nowhere to be found. Not on the west side by the techies, not in the north by the food stalls. Not by the shops. Nothing. Chanyeol wheels around as if maybe Baekhyun will show up suddenly. But he doesn’t. 

“God, it would be a lot easier if he had a fucking earpiece,” Chanyeol whispers angrily to himself. 

He wanders and wanders, searching, eventually ending back where he started at the beginning of the underground. Minseo waves him over, and so he goes. 

“What are you doing here at this time?” Minseo asks. 

Chanyeol gestures with the box. 

“Delivering something to a friend,” Chanyeol says. “Have you seen him? The, uh, redhead I hang out with?” 

“No,” she says, eyes critical. “Haven’t seen him around much. And what kind of relationship do you have with that boy anyway?” 

“Um, he’s my friend,” Chanyeol says. 

“And that’s it?” Minseo asks. 

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. 

“Good,” Minseo says, folding her arms. “You and Jongin need to stop playing around with these fools, and—” 

“Minseo, Jongin and I aren’t together anymore,” he says. 

“So?” she says. “You think I don’t know that?” 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, boy,” Minseo says. “I know better than the both of you.” 

“Yes, Minseo,” Chanyeol says, and she pulls him into a hug.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol swings by the market over the next couple days, but he can never find Baekhyun, not even by his normal spot. Then, after work one day when he goes to check, he is left with a sinking stomach. 

All of Baekhyun’s things, the cart of blankets and clothes and makeup and cheap tech-gear...it is all gone. 

Chanyeol panics. 

A couple of the other hangers in the area are around, and Chanyeol knows them well enough. Proximity is half the battle down here. 

“Hey, uh,” Chanyeol says, tapping one of the boys on the shoulder. “Sorry, but, have you seen Baekhyun?” 

“Nah,” the boy says. “Thing dropped out of this spot like, I don’t know, two days ago? Haven’t seen that dund since. Still owes me a fizzer, too.” 

The worst of the worst starts running through his head. Taken. Sold. Raped. Murdered. Worse? Shit like that happens all the fucking time, and Baekhyun jokes around about his knife, but… 

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Thanks, I’ll, uh...I’ll get him to pay you back.” 

“Chizzy,” the boy says. “Thanks, cat.” 

“No problem,” Chanyeol says, turning around, leaving, feeling a hundred times worse than when he first came. 

As soon as he’s back above ground, he taps his earpiece and calls Sehun. 

“Hey,” Sehun answers. “What’s up?” 

“Can you come over?” Chanyeol asks. 

And there must be enough fear in his voice that Sehun can tell something is wrong, because he doesn’t put up a fight, doesn’t even question it. 

“Yep, calling a car now,” Sehun says. “Hang on.” 

 

⚠

 

"Are you kidding?" 

"No," Chanyeol says. "I wouldn't joke about something like this." 

“ _ That _ ’s what I’m here for?” 

Sehun looks annoyed, not upset. He stands with his arms folded in the foyer. Chanyeol wishes he could be cool for even a second. 

“Yes?” Chanyeol says. “I’m, like, kind of freaking out.” 

“Trust me, he’s fine,” Sehun says. “Don’t worry about him.” 

“How can I not be worried about him? All his shit is gone.” 

“Look,” Sehun says, “what if I told you he would definitely be getting in contact with you tomorrow?” 

“Then I would ask how you’re privy to such information,” Chanyeol says. 

“And I would tell you to mind your fuckin’ business,” Sehun says, turning his back on Chanyeol. 

“Uh-uh, no way,” Chanyeol says, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him back around. 

“No,” Sehun says. “Stop.” 

“What’s going on with you two?” Chanyeol says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Nothing?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m serious,” Sehun says. “We just, I don’t know, we hang out, I guess.” 

“Since when?” Chanyeol says, unable to hide the delight in his voice. 

“No, if you’re gonna make a big deal out of it, I—” 

“I’m not making a big deal out of it,” Chanyeol says. “I just think it’s nice.” 

“Yeah, well,” Sehun says, folding his arms. “My point is, don’t worry about him. He hasn’t been kidnapped or whatever.” 

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, smiling. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sehun says. 

“I’m not.” 

Sehun pushes him off towards the living room. 

“I should be leaving,” Sehun says, but he steps out of his shoes, pads over to the couch. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. 

 

⚠

 

He didn’t even need to wait a whole day. He gets the ping around lunchtime, when he’s shoving his face full of seaweed salad. 

“Yo,” Baekhyun’s voice says. “Picked up one of these joints. Ping me back."

Chanyeol nearly chokes to death before he manages to swallow.

He smiles wildly, clicks on his earpiece. 

“I thought earpieces were for drones and droids,” Chanyeol says, and then he listens for the confirmation chime. 

Chanyeol eventually goes back to work, finishing up three tasks before he gets a return chime. 

“I am now officially a drone. On the grid for sure,” Baekhyun says. “And I’ve got something to show you. I dropped a pin. Meet me there after you're done with work, okay?” 

Chanyeol bites over his smile. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol replies, “meet you there.” 

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol didn’t always live well, especially during the height of honey. At the worst of it, he was about to be locked out of his apartment, several months back on payments. He avoided the man in charge of the building, crashing at different places just so he didn’t have to face him. 

In other words, he was intimately familiar with low-level housing structures, if not this one specifically. This is freshly built, resting on the bones of some other torn-down place, and in a few months, it will probably be overrun with junkies. Despite all that, places like this are necessary. People need them, need them in order to get a leg up.

“So,” Baekhyun says, leaning back against the building, “I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “Shoot.” 

“So,” Baekhyun says, looking out into the night, “I may have gotten into contact with Kyungsoo.” 

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “No shit, really?” 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, smile bright. 

“And…?” Chanyeol asks. 

“And he was super interested in what I was doing,” Baekhyun says, “what  _ we  _ were doing, really.” 

“No shit,” Chanyeol says. 

“He asked me what our setup was like, what we were using, how we were writing, that kind of thing,” Baekhyun says, and he has so many stars in his eyes, so many galaxies and so much hope. “And we talked for like, the whole night.” 

“God, that’s great,” Chanyeol says. “I’m happy for you.”

Baekhyun pushes off the wall, stands up straight. Stares Chanyeol dead in the eye. 

“I know I’ve been hiding a little from you,” Baekhyun says. “And I’m sorry, but I wanted to tell you all this shit all at once because it was just like, I knew if I saw you, I’d wanna fucking spill everything, I’d wanna celebrate and—” 

“Don’t worry,” Chanyeol smiles. “We’re chizz.”

Baekhyun doesn't even laugh at him, doesn't even poke him in the stomach. Just radiates joy. Light. 

“We super fuckin’ are, baby,” Baekhyun says. “Cause guess fuckin’ what? We’re starting a label.” 

“What?” 

“We’re starting a label,” Baekhyun says. “Me and him. We’re gonna do this shit together. And, like, he wants you to do some of our production shit, you know what I mean? Like, working with him, working with me, maybe even other people. Who fucking knows!” 

Chanyeol bites his lip to stop from crying, the happy tears welling in his eyes almost immediately. Baekhyun, who deserves the break most, who deserves goodness...finally getting it. 

“You—” 

“And that’s not all,” Baekhyun says, and he reaches out, takes Chanyeol by the hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” 

“Home,” Baekhyun smiles. 

He follows Baekhyun to the door of the building, and Chanyeol holds his breath as Baekhyun sticks out his wrist for the reader. It flashes, and the door slides open. 

“Pretty chizz, huh?” Baekhyun says, pulling Chanyeol across the threshold. "Your boy is extremely lush right now." 

“You...you got a place?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Yep,” Baekhyun says. “All mine. I went looking before I moved out.”

“Holy shit,” Chanyeol says, and he wastes no time tugging Baekhyun into his arms, squeezing him tight. “You did this all on your own?” 

“Nah, come on, baby. You know you helped,” Baekhyun says. “I wouldn’t be here without you. Without you giving a shit for some unknown reason.” 

He shuts his eyes, kisses the top of Baekhyun's head. 

“Shut up,” he says. 

“I’m serious,” Baekhyun says. “You changed my life.” 

Chanyeol lets it filter through him, soft like the early morning light program. 

“You changed mine,” Chanyeol says. 

“Stop,” Baekhyun says, and he buries his face into Chanyeol’s chest. 

“You stop,” Chanyeol says.m

“I can’t, I’m unstoppable,” Baekhyun says. And he is right. 

They stand there in the shitty little lobby, dim artificial light flickering over them. 

“Come on,” Baekhyun says, pulling him towards the elevator. “Let me show you around upstairs.”

 

⚠

 

The apartment is small. A mini-micro or smaller. 

“But it’s all I really need,” Baekhyun says. “Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, living room.” 

And Chanyeol follows him through the space, noticing all the touches Baekhyun’s already made to make the place his. A set-up in the bathroom for his makeup. A box of dye at the sink. His boots kicked in the corner, messy. It’s still quite empty, but Chanyeol knows that Baekhyun will have no problem filling it. 

Baekhyun shows him the bedroom, and Chanyeol notices the comforter that Baekhyun used to use in the underground. It’s now sprawled across the mattress resting in the center of the room. 

“Still gotta get some stuff,” Baekhyun says. “One thing at a time, though, right?” 

Chanyeol turns to him. 

“I’m—” 

He takes Baekhyun in his arms again. 

“I am so, so proud of you,” Chanyeol says. 

“You know,” Baekhyun says, arms around Chanyeol’s waist, “before I met you, it had been a long time since I heard that.” 

Baekhyun cooks him a meager meal, but Chanyeol is grateful for it, their first communion in his home. They talk and laugh, and by the time Chanyeol clicks on his earpiece to ask for the time, it is time for him to leave. 

"I'm sorry," Chanyeol says. "I wish I could stay a little later, but..." 

"But nothing," Baekhyun says. "You have a real job." 

"Hey," Chanyeol says, and he grabs Baekhyun's face in his hands. "The shit you do is realer than anything." 

Baekhyun closes his eyes against it, puts his hands over Chanyeol's. 

 

⚠

 

Walking out of the building, Baekhyun takes Chanyeol in a hug, presses his face into Chanyeol’s chest. 

“If you need any help with anything...,” Chanyeol says.

“I know where to find you. Ping me tomorrow, okay?” Baekhyun says, smiling. “Wow, I love saying that.” 

Chanyeol smiles. “Handy, huh?” 

“ _ Stupid _ handy.” 

“I’m proud of you,” Chanyeol says again, figuring he can’t say it enough. 

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, “me too.” 

He punches Chanyeol in the shoulder, then pushes his hair out of his face, gives Chanyeol one of those signature bright smiles. And Chanyeol looks up at the building, amazed at how, yes, he can be something good. He can help. He can. He and Baekhyun were exactly what they needed each other to be. He doesn’t always need to hurt. 

“Get out of here,” Baekhyun says. “It’s getting late.” 

Chanyeol watches as Baekhyun walks back through the doors, slipping closed behind him, and he waves Chanyeol away once he’s safely inside. It isn’t the best neighborhood, but it’s a neighborhood, and it’s a home. Chanyeol turns, feeling as though he’s— 

Just then, a man passes him by, and he...he’s wearing the coat. Dark blue. Zippers at the chest. A hood lined with white fur. And the way he walks, as if he’s walking on air....it is entirely too familiar. Chanyeol has never seen anyone walk that way before. 

Except for one person. 

“Jongin?” 

The man turns, and there. There he is. His hair is honey blond now, and it shines under the streetlight where he stops, looking glossy and soft. He wears two piercings at the arch of his left eyebrow, small gold hoops that glint. He looks thin with the coat wrapped around him, but it’s an illusion. Drop someone into something even a bit too big for them, and it will look like they’re drowning in it. 

Jongin doesn’t respond, and for a moment, Chanyeol doesn’t understand. Then, he realizes he is draped in darkness, so he takes a step forward into the light, lets the warmth of the lamp wash over him. He smiles. 

A smile dawns on Jongin’s face. 

“Chanyeol,” he says fondly.

And Chanyeol's never really seen the sun, only the haze of it through the smog, but he figures this must be what it looks like. Jongin has always been something like the break of day: welcoming even after the darkest nights. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [pokemon battle music] 
> 
> A WILD JONGIN APPEARS! 
> 
> i hope u enjoyed this update even tho it was kind of, [bad french accent] how u say.....garbáge. i am extremely sleepy so i will not go too crazy in these end notes today, but i would just like to wish u all a very happy holidays and i love u and stuff. i have a cheesecake and a beer waiting for me rn so i will not dilly-dally any further. have an excellent week. mama loves u, baby


	24. twenty four

It’s late, and Chanyeol has work in the morning. He wishes he didn’t, but he does. He figures a minute or two won’t matter much, though. If he’s exhausted in the morning, maybe he’ll take his shorter run route. He gives himself a bit of leniency.

“H-how have you been?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin rubs at his eyes, smears the line of black at the corner. He looks different, of course, but still the same. A little more worldly, and maybe a bit more weary of it, if Chanyeol’s eyes can be trusted.

“I’ve been okay,” Jongin smiles, still as handsome as ever, but there is something there, something Chanyeol’s never really seen before. “What about you?”

Jongin brings his hand up, starts playing absently with a piercing at his ear, one Chanyeol hadn’t noticed before Jongin brought his attention to it. It’s the same color gold, but it has a blue jewel studding the hoop.

“I’ve been good, I—,” Chanyeol stammers, and he looks at his feet, wishing he could talk more. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cut this short, but I should get going soon, I’ve got—”

“Work tomorrow,” Jongin says. “It’s okay. Uh, it was good seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too. You look good,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin’s eyes move. Up. Down.

“Yeah, you too,” Jongin says tentatively, almost shyly. “Um. Maybe I could, I don’t know, give you a call later in the week? Like, maybe we could catch up?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Chanyeol smiles.

Jongin’s smile goes radiant.

“Me too!” he says excitedly, and he twitches forward, an aborted movement, before stepping back again. “I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Talk to you later,” Chanyeol says.

Chanyeol walks away first, hands jammed into the pockets of his coat, and he smiles to himself, thinking about the way time has changed them both. For the better, he hopes. For good.

 

⚠

 

It’s late, but it is a Saturday night. And Chanyeol has nowhere to be.

He didn’t think too much about it, to be honest. If he was Jongin, he wouldn’t want to get involved again. Chanyeol wouldn’t blame him. No one burns themselves on a heating element and goes back for another touch.

So he expected it to be one of those things. It’s a common courtesy, of course, one he was familiar with. ‘ _Hey, let’s catch up.’ ‘Yeah, we should._ ’ And then nothing. It wouldn’t hurt his feelings. It was just one of those things.

But he gets the call, and he’s already in bed.

“Hey,” Jongin says, and he sounds strange. Sounds different than Chanyeol remembers.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says sleepily. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “Hey, um, if I drop a pin, would you come see me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he scrambles to sit up in his bed, sheets pooling around him. “Drop it, and I’ll check how long it’ll be.”

“Kay,” Jongin says, and the connection dings. “Get it?”

“Yeah, lemme take a look,” Chanyeol says. “M, distance?”

“Approximately ten minutes via ordered car,” M responds, hologrammed map pouring out over him. “Traffic is light to moderate on recommended route.”

“Ten minutes,” Chanyeol says to Jongin.

“Okay,” Jongin says. “So I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, scooting to the edge of the bed quickly before he stands. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

⚠

 

The car stops, dropping him off at a lonely street corner near Baekhyun’s building. He gets out, sees Jongin standing there smiling. Chanyeol can see the remains of some makeup, dots of glitter still clinging to Jongin’s cheeks, his lips stained cherry red.

“Hi,” Jongin says. “That wasn’t too long.”

“No,” Chanyeol says. “Not bad at all.”

“I guess since it’s late,” Jongin says, staring at his feet.

“Yeah, that probably had something to do with it,” Chanyeol says.

There is an awkward silence, the kind Chanyeol distantly remembers from when Jongin first woke. He smiles, thinking about it. A simpler time.

“So,” Chanyeol says, “did you wanna go somewhere?”

“Oh,” Jongin says. “Yeah, uh...we can go sit and talk? There’s a place I like around here.”

“Sure, sounds good,” Chanyeol says.

“It’s close,” Jongin says, rubbing his hands together as if to keep warm. “It’s cute too.”

“Cool,” Chanyeol smiles. “Do they only serve tea?”

“Shut up,” Jongin laughs.

They walk across the lines of the districts, and Chanyeol wonders why they didn’t just meet at the place. It’s quiet, though, the so-late-it’s-almost-early city silence calming. And Chanyeol watches as the streets go from littered and dirty to manicured and clean.

“I live, uh, back over in Cheongdam,” Jongin says. “But I like this place, and I figured it was...I don’t know, a short walk, I guess.”

Chanyeol bites down on his nerves at the suggestion of where he lives: Jongin’s made it this far on his own. He’s figured it out. He doesn’t need Chanyeol’s overbearing concern.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he says.

“I think you will too,” Jongin says. “They’ve got that triple espresso, infused crap you like.”

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, “I’ve cut back on caffeine, I’ll have you know.”

“Lots of big life changes, huh?” Jongin says, and Chanyeol smiles. It’s a joke, but it’s true. He has changed a lot. And not like the first time, when it felt like it was temporary. Means to an end.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Trying to get my shit together.”

Jongin looks over, and Chanyeol notices again the vestiges of highlighter at his cheek, a gloss at his lips. He’s shining, ever shining, and the golden piercings make him look like light. But the smile he wears looks...bittersweet for some strange reason.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jongin says.

“Thanks,” Chanyeol says quietly.

The rest of the short walk is quiet, their hands shoved into their pockets as they go. Chanyeol tries to swallow over the nerves creeping up from his stomach. There is nothing addictive about Jongin, he reminds himself. It was the way that Chanyeol viewed him, _used_ him that was dangerous.

“Here it is,” Jongin says, reaching out an arm to stop Chanyeol.

The sign blinks _Cosmic Latte_ , and they’ve rigged a little projection up into the sky, a galaxy of blues and purples that looks dense and thick like smoke. It’s pretty, incredibly pretty, and Chanyeol thinks idly that this is the type of place Jongin belongs. A beautiful, quiet corner of the universe, just for him.

The shop is dead when they walk in, and it springs to life, the lights flickering on and the machines humming with their awakening.

“Just us, I guess,” Jongin says, walking to a terminal and pressing in his order.

It takes no time at all for the comforting scent of chamomile to fill the air.

“Black with sucralose?” Jongin asks, but he doesn’t bother to wait for Chanyeol’s answer, just keys it in.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and they watch the coffee dispensed, dripping from the steaming nozzle.

Jongin turns once it’s finished, a bright, fake smile on his face.

“Counter or table?” he asks.

“Either is good with me,” Chanyeol says.

“Pick,” Jongin orders.

“You pick.”

Jongin rolls his eyes, and Chanyeol follows as he walks to a table near the glimmering windows. They sit, opposite each other, and they hold the paper cups in their hands.

“H-how have you been?” Chanyeol asks.

“I’ve been good,” Jongin says. “What about you?”

“Good,” Chanyeol says, and he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to lie about it anymore. “What have you been up to?”

“Working,” Jongin says, rolling his eyes before his expression goes... _careful_. “And, uh, I started—I started dancing.”

“Dancing?” Chanyeol asks. “Like professionally?”

“Not in a club or anything!” Jongin says, holding up his hands like Chanyeol might get the wrong idea. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that! Mirae used to dance, and it’s an honest job, and sometimes people—”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t going to judge,” Chanyeol laughs. “Where are you dancing?”

“I, uh,” Jongin says, fiddling with his cup, “never mind. It’s really stupid.”

“No, it isn’t,” Chanyeol says.

“It is,” Jongin says. “I mean, it’s not like—”

“Tell me about it,” Chanyeol says, leaning in just a little. “Please?”

Jongin looks down, studies his tea as he smiles. _That’s better_ , Chanyeol thinks. That’s _real._

“You know the weekly live shows,” Jongin says.

Glitz. Glamour. Gold confetti pouring down from the rafters. Singers and dancers, flags and sabres and batons. Comedians and actors. Magicians and their showcases. The ultimate variety. Of course he knows. Everyone knows.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Saturday nights.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says, a small curve at his lip. “I’m in their company.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Chanyeol says. “Wow, that’s...that’s amazing. That’s—fuck, congratulations, Jongin."

Jongin ducks, shoulders shrugging. Smiles wider like he can’t help it. “Thank you,” he says.

“H-how’d all that happen?” Chanyeol asks. “I mean, when did you start dancing?”

The mood shifts like that, the snap of his fingers, and Chanyeol almost regrets asking. It’s stiff, uncomfortable. And then Jongin speaks.

“Uh,” Jongin says. “A long time ago.”

“While...while we were together?” Chanyeol asks.

“Yeah,” Jongin says.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, “I-I’m sorry I never asked about it.”

“I never told you,” Jongin says. “So it’s not your fault.”

Now or never, he thinks. It’s time to make things right.

“I should have...I mean, I know I didn’t make it easy to open up,” Chanyeol says. “I know I closed the lines of communication. So it is my fault. And I just...you know, I was glad we ran into each other, because I wanted to take the time to apologize to you. For everything.”

“Stop,” Jongin says, and he looks off. He stares at the lights embedded into the glass of the window. The shop has cartoonish stars, moons, a swirling nebula at the center of it all.

“I’m serious,” Chanyeol says. “I started...I mean, it’s fine, I don’t want to bore you with the details, but I’m taking things seriously now. And I really am sorry for everything I put you through. All the...all the mean shit.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Jongin says.

“Of course I do,” Chanyeol says. “I was...I was in a bad place, and you knew it. And you tried to get me help, but I didn’t listen. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jongin says.

“It isn’t,” Chanyeol says. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Jongin says quickly. “I accept your apology. L-let’s talk about something else. Tell me, uh, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

_Where to start?_

“I went back to therapy,” Chanyeol says.

“Oh,” Jongin says, and he looks down. “I’m...I’m really glad.”

“I’m on a med-col,” Chanyeol says, smiling. “It’s kind of embarrassing to talk about, but—”

Jongin’s head shoots up.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Jongin interrupts, and he stares at Chanyeol, unyielding. “You did the right thing.”

“Yeah, finally,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin’s face softens, his lips curving.

“Better late than never,” he says. “How is the med-col?”

“God, it’s so good,” Chanyeol says. “At first, it was weird. I mean, I felt like a brick wall. But she made some changes to it, I told her what worked and what didn’t, and now I’m...now it’s good. I feel normal, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “God, that’s so good. I’m…”

“I should thank you,” Chanyeol says. “You knew I was hurting myself, and I wouldn’t have stopped unless I hit the bottom. So...thank you. For everything you did for me.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says sadly. “You’re welcome.”

“And I, uh, I make music now,” Chanyeol says.

“Oh!” Jongin perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah, you remember Baekhyun?” Chanyeol asks.

“Oh, yes,” Jongin says, smiling. “I see him around sometimes. In the neighborhood.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “He kinda sticks out.”

“He does,” Jongin nods. “So you do it with him?”

“Yeah, I started out just helping,” Chanyeol says. “But then I started making my own, and, I don’t know, it’s all happening so fast, but he and this indie singer Kyungsoo are making a label and they want me to help out with production.”

“Kyungsoo?” Jongin asks, eyes wide. “Wow.”

“Big deal, huh?”

“Very big deal,” Jongin says. “He was—”

He stops himself, bites his lip. Looks down at his untouched tea.

“What?” Chanyeol asks.

A beat. And another.

“I don’t wanna upset you,” Jongin says, and a tear runs down his face.

“You’re not gonna upset me,” Chanyeol says, and he wants to clasp Jongin’s shoulder, comfort him in some small way, but he holds back. Doesn’t want to overstep his bounds.

“I got involved with someone,” Jongin says, looking down, “when we were separated.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, and he smiles shyly. “Well, it’s not like I thought you were going to join a monastery.”

Jongin flicks his eyes up, smiles smally.

“It was Seojun,” Jongin says, and the smile goes sad, dripping down Jongin’s face like his tears.

“Oh,” Chanyeol repeats. “Are you still—”

“No,” Jongin laughs, and he wipes his face. “No, it was a short-lived experiment. A while back.”

“Are you...are you okay?” Chanyeol asks.

“I don’t know sometimes,” Jongin says. “I really don’t.”

“It’s okay not to be okay,” Chanyeol says.

“I’m fine,” Jongin says, and he wipes at his face more, shakes his head as if to clear the thoughts away. “Anyway, Seojun really liked Kyungsoo’s music. So that’s crazy.”

Chanyeol wants to probe. Wants to stick his finger in the wound just to see how deep it goes. Jongin teared up just with the thought of him, so...what happened? But he can tell when Jongin has had enough now, and he won’t make him uncomfortable. Never again.

“Yeah, who knows?” Chanyeol says. “Maybe I’ll be able to do it full time after they get their thing off the ground.”

“That would be super chizz,” Jongin smiles. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too,” Chanyeol says.

“Ah,” Jongin says, and he sinks back in his seat. “There’s nothing to be proud of really.”

“You’re doing something you like doing. You’re _dancing_ ,” Chanyeol says. “And on the live shows? That’s a pretty big deal.”

“I only got in because I’m an android,” Jongin says, playing with the rolled lip of his cup and staring at his fingers working. “Worse comes to worst, the choreographers can just write the program in a micro and pop it in.”

“Have they ever needed to do that to you?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin’s eyes shoot up. He rises to the challenge. Something about it says _mine is a spirit that cannot be broken_. And has anything ever been more human than that?

“Never.”  

“Well, then maybe it’s not just because you’re an android,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin looks away with another smile. Takes a sip of his tea. And Chanyeol mirrors him, takes a sip of his coffee. It’s bitter, sure, but there are sweet notes, too: chocolate and brown sugar, caramel and toffee.

“Oh, you…” Jongin says, and he reaches forward, fingers playing with the chain of Chanyeol’s bracelet, skimming along the skin of his wrist. “You still wear this?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says sheepishly. “Sorry, is that weird?”

“No. It isn’t,” Jongin smiles. He pushes up the sleeve of his coat, shows off the twin piece. The metal reflects light as he twists his wrist. “I haven’t taken it off.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol says. “Yeah, no...I haven’t either.”

Jongin looks down, smile fading.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says. “Did I—”

“Why didn’t you call?” Jongin asks. “Why didn’t you…why didn’t you ping me?”  

“I-I’m sorry,” Chanyeol fumbles. “I just wanted to give you space. I’m sorry.”

“We didn’t talk for five months,” Jongin says. “We went from everything to nothing in a split second. And you never once...never checked on me. Never asked.”

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says. “I wanted to. I did, I just…”

Jongin looks up, and his eyes are watery. Chanyeol wants to lean forward. Wants to do something about it. Doesn’t know what to do.

“God, _stop_ apologizing,” Jongin says. “I’m so fucking sick of hearing people’s apologies.”

“I’m—” Chanyeol starts, stuck in the habit, but he immediately bites his lip. “I won’t.”

Jongin sucks in a deep breath.

“You know, I was constantly questioning myself. Did I make the right decision? Should I have left? But now I know for sure. I’m glad we broke up,” Jongin says, looking Chanyeol over. “You look so happy.”

“I am happy,” Chanyeol says. But tears roll down Jongin’s face. “Aren’t you happy too?”

“No,” Jongin says smiling. “Not really.”

Chanyeol’s heart...put it beneath the hydraulic press, and that still wouldn’t have the same effect.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Chanyeol asks. “I mean, I...I know I fucked up, but if you feel comfortable enough to talk about it, if you want to go back to being friends, then—”

“I want to be friends,” Jongin says quickly, like Chanyeol might rescind the offer if he doesn’t take him up on it fast enough.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “We can be friends.”

“Good,” Jongin says. “I’m sorry.”

“Now who needs to stop apologizing?” Chanyeol smiles.

Jongin wipes the tears away from his face, kicks Chanyeol gently. Smiles.

 

⚠

 

After that late Saturday night, early Sunday morning at _Cosmic Latte_ , Chanyeol calls. And Jongin calls too.

Sometimes, they’ll meet for meals. Where they meet...it varies. Sometimes, Jongin meets him in Itaewon. Sometimes, Jongin suggests a place in Cheongdam. They go all manner of places, from lower to higher class. Some are still serviced by droids, others are self-serve. Some have table systems. Jongin sticks close to what he knows and loves, local chicken places run by ahjummas who know him and pinch his cheeks, restaurants that are marketed towards health food crazies. Chanyeol prefers to branch out. There’s always someone making something new. Experimenting with flavors, new ingredients.

“Except you won’t eat anything spicy,” Jongin says, pointing his chopsticks across the little plastic table in an accusatory fashion.

“Because it’s spicy?” Chanyeol says.

“What kind of reasoning is that?” Jongin asks.

“Listen, you have robotic taste-buds or whatever,” Chanyeol says. “Maybe they make it less hot for you. Personally, I find no enjoyment in trying to injure myself while eating.”

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it,” Jongin says, pouting and poking his lips with the ends of his chopsticks. “Maybe they programmed in a capsaicin-to-endorphin pleasure response?”

“That makes sense,” Chanyeol says. “Also, I hate you.”

“Nah,” Jongin smiles. “You _like_ me.”

Jongin fell back into it, that type of easy flirting, but Chanyeol keeps a respectable distance. He’s no fool. He’s slowly relearning things, he’s re-educating himself, but these things don’t happen overnight, and he won’t rush anything. Friendship is smart. Good for him. And that’s where it will stay.

Chanyeol smiles, kicks Jongin under the table. “Eat your ramen,” he orders.

“Yes, sir,” Jongin says, saluting with his chopsticks before diving back in.

 

⚠

 

Sehun and Baekhyun show up at the same time, as they have taken to doing recently. Chanyeol narrows his eyes. He can put two and two together. He isn’t totally hopeless.

“What are you lookin’ at?” Baekhyun asks, sitting down and waving for the droid.

“Just you two losers,” Chanyeol says.

Baekhyun barks out a laugh, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Who says loser anymore?”

“Be nice to him,” Sehun says, patting Chanyeol on the shoulder. “He’s old.”

The droid interrupts, so he sits quietly as they order, stewing in his anger until the girl leaves.

“I’m only, like, a _year and a half_ older than you,” Chanyeol argues.

“It’s a cultural gap the size of the fucking Grand Canyon,” Baekhyun says. “Amazing. They should study it.”

“I don’t know why I talk to you guys,” Chanyeol grimaces. “Especially now that you’re together.”

The response is immediate and furious.

“We’re not together,” Baekhyun says.

“No,” Sehun says, “we’re not.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says. “You’re not together.”

“And don’t get it turned,” Baekhyun says, poking into Chanyeol’s chest. “There’s only one dick I’ve ridden at this table, and it’s gonna stay that way.”

“We’re in public,” Chanyeol says, beseeching.

“Right,” Baekhyun says, looking around like he forgot. “Anyway, we have business to discuss.”

“Oh, we do, do we?”

Baekhyun elbows into Sehun.

“Tell him, baby,” Baekhyun says.

“D-don’t call me that,” Sehun says. Chanyeol smiles, finding he likes seeing Sehun squirm like that. “You, uh, you’re talking to Jongin again?”

“Oh, yeah,” Chanyeol says. “We ran into each other a little while ago. We’ve just been, I don’t know, hanging out, I guess.”

“Does hanging out entail the touching of genitals?” Baekhyun asks.

“Baekhyun,” Sehun says, reaching out to slap Baekhyun on the hand.

“Ow!” Baekhyun exclaims before poking Sehun in the forehead, pushing him back. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Genitals are present but not involved,” Chanyeol says.

“Interesting,” Baekhyun says, puts his elbows on the table and puts his chin in his hands. “You’re friends or whatever?”

“Yes, we are,” Chanyeol says before turning to Sehun. “You spying on me?”

“No,” Sehun says. “Just keeping up to date with your personal relationships.”

“Normal,” Chanyeol says. “Exceedingly normal.”

“It’s not his fault your boy likes to talk,” Baekhyun says. “Besides, when have we ever been normal?”

“You know what,” Chanyeol says, burying his face in his hands, “never.”  

 

⚠

 

The first time Chanyeol invites Jongin over again, their anime viewing experience better at home than at a screen bang, Jongin gasps. It’s sweet, silly, and Chanyeol smiles.

“Really?” he asks.

“Yeah, if you want,” Chanyeol says. “I can make dinner before we watch. It’ll be cheaper this way anyway.”

“Okay,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol can hear the happiness in his voice.

Chanyeol prepares for the evening carefully, and he hears Jongin check in, the door sweeping open after he scans his wrist.

“Hey,” he calls, finishing up the presentation. He read in a book once that you eat with your eyes first. “In the kitchen.”

He listens to the sounds of Jongin shuffling out of his shoes as he places the finished bowl on the table.

“Oh. I thought you were joking,” Jongin says, standing wide-eyed at the mouth of the kitchen.

“No, I was very serious,” Chanyeol says, and he waits. “Sit, sit. Tell me if you like it.”

Jongin does as he’s told, sits and then stares at the bowl in front of him. Turns it cautiously from side to side.

“You made this?” Jongin asks.

“I made it,” Chanyeol says.

“And you didn’t get it airdropped?” Jongin asks.

“Jeez, it’s like you have no faith in me,” Chanyeol says.

“You ate street trash for your whole life,” Jongin says, squinting.

“Well, now, I, uh, make salads and shit,” Chanyeol says. He gestures broadly to the bowl in front of Jongin. “What do you think?”

“It looks very...green,” Jongin says.

“Aren’t they supposed to?” Chanyeol asks.

“Normally,” Jongin says. “This isn’t one of those _just add water_ meals, is it?”

“God, will you just try it?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin picks up his fork, stabs a piece of nitro-smoked salmon and then stabs some of the lettuce.

“What’s the little stuff?” Jongin asks, studying his fork.

“It’s, uh, local microgreens,” Chanyeol says.

“How local?” Jongin asks.

Chanyeol points to the shelf near the dishwasher. He has a sunlamp rigged up, set to a schedule to mimic what they’d normally get in nature.

“Shit,” Jongin says. “You’re, like...you’re _serious_ about this.”

“It’s pretty good,” Chanyeol shrugs. “Cara makes this mustard-lemon dressing that’s really good, and she gave me the recipe, so I needed to put it on stuff.”

Jongin lifts the fork to his mouth, eats tentatively. Chanyeol folds his hands under his chin, waiting with a nervous excitement.

“It’s...it’s really good,” Jongin says slowly.

Chanyeol’s stomach flares with pride.

“I told you!” Chanyeol says.

Jongin rolls his eyes, and he kicks the other seat out from the table.

“Sit,” Jongin says. “Eat.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol says happily.

 

⚠

 

He talked with Dr. Kang about it. He usually runs things by her when he thinks them. She’s smart. She makes sure he’s in the right head-space about this kind of thing.

Because the thing is that Jongin is different. Chanyeol can’t put his finger on what it is, on what happened in those five months they were separated, but it seems like it really hurt him. Really affected him. And Chanyeol doesn’t know how to respond.

“Let me just make sure I’m understanding you,” Dr. Kang says. “You’re concerned about him, but you feel as though you have no right to ask.”

“Basically,” Chanyeol says, hands folded.

“That’s good,” she says. “It’s good that you aren’t putting him on a pedestal, but at the same time, you’re thinking about his feelings and  being considerate.”

“I think that’s what it is,” Chanyeol says. “I’m just thinking clearly. And thinking more.”

“Well put,” she says. “But I think, in this case, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check on him. To make sure he knows that you’re there for him if he wants someone to talk to.”

“I just don’t want him to think I’m trying something,” Chanyeol says. “I know that I probably ruined shit between us romantically, and that’s fair, you know, maybe we weren’t supposed to work out, but I just...I want him to be happy, you know? And he doesn’t seem happy.”

Dr. Kang frowns.

“You’ve come a long way, and I want you to know that,” she says. “And, on top of everything, no matter what’s happened between you both, it’s never a bad thing to want someone to be happy.”

 

⚠

 

Sehun suggests bringing Jongin into the fold with Saturday night dinners. Chanyeol makes sure they push it back, _late_ Saturday night in order to make room for Jongin’s shows. Jongin always comes a bit made up, still glowing. Sometimes breathless. Always smiling.

Chanyeol thought it might be strange, bringing Baekhyun around him, but Baekhyun is Baekhyun, so Chanyeol need not have worried. He is strange, but in the endearing way that makes you want to protect him.

“Brother,” Baekhyun smiles, and he opens his arms for a hug before Jongin hesitantly steps into the embrace. “How have you been, my most metal of friends?”

It shocks a little laugh out of Jongin.

“I’ve been well,” Jongin says. “Chanyeol told me about the label. Congratulations!”

“Ah, and isn’t it just the chizziest shit you’ve ever heard?” Baekhyun smiles.

“Definitely,” Jongin says, and Baekhyun pats him on the back before pulling him back by the shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Ah.”

“You look sexy with the blond hair,” Baekhyun says. “Super vix.”

“Stop,” Jongin says shyly. “I’m not.”

“You certainly are,” Baekhyun says. “The vixiest of us all. Where’d you get it done?”

“Oh, I box dye it,” Jongin says, tugging at his hair. “Sorry, that’s—”

“I box dye mine too!” Baekhyun says. “Oh my shit, we really are brothers! What do you use? Nova? Void?”

“Void,” Jongin says. “It helps with the…”

“Oh shit, yeah, that synthetic-blend shit,” Baekhyun nods, and he pets Jongin’s hair. “Wow, soft! I bet it’s banging for curls, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says shyly. “Holds it forever if I want.”

Baekhyun smiles, then turns to Sehun sharply, desperately. Takes Sehun’s lapels in his hands.

“Baby, can we keep him?”

Sehun shoves him away, but Chanyeol isn’t an idiot. Well, he is an idiot, but not in this way. Baekhyun is less an open book, and more a screaming one.

“Shut up,” Sehun says. “We should—”

“Sit, yes,” Baekhyun says, and he pulls Jongin’s chair out for him, lets him sit before he pulls out his own. “I am famished, and Sehun is paying so order whatever you want.”

Sehun squawks, and Jongin laughs loudly, his mouth open and joyful. He looks like Jongin of old, just...updated. Two point oh.

 

⚠

 

It’ll flash on his face: the disappointment, the sadness. Chanyeol wonders when the best time to ask is, but he never wants to ruin their time together, so he doesn’t. Just waits.

Jongin is sprawled across the couch, searching through the documentaries on his M system as Chanyeol searches his cabinets for snacks.

That’s when the pings begin. Chanyeol minds his business for the first couple, but when Jongin huffs, even goes so far as to take his earpiece _out_ , he figures it’s the best time to talk about it.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol looks over to see..a facade. A wall that’s 100 centimeters of thick, cold steel.

Chanyeol leaves the cabinet open, walks to the edge of the living room.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Jongin looks up at him.

“I’m—”

Tears start falling down his face.

“Hey, hey,” Chanyeol says, crossing to sit next to him. “What’s wrong, huh? Are you—”

“She told me I was an idiot. She said that you were just trying to get me back,” Jongin rambles, wiping at his face. “And I thought I would spend a little bit of time with you and realize that nothing had changed, that everything was exactly the same as I left it, but Chanyeol—you’re so fucking different. You really are.”

“Who—Mirae?” Chanyeol asks.

“She...she thought you were gonna—,” Jongin says, and he shuts his eyes.

“Thought I was gonna what?” Chanyeol asks.

“Thought you were gonna be like him,” Jongin says. “Thought you were gonna fuck me up.”

“I’m—I don’t intend to,” Chanyeol says. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, so I can only speak for myself but...I’m only trying to right wrongs.”  

Jongin goes quiet, sits up.

“Could I...can you hug me?” Jongin asks.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, “of course. If that’s what you want.”

Chanyeol leans forward to meet him, wraps his arms around Jongin as Jongin wraps his own around Chanyeol. He seems so small this way, tucking his face into Chanyeol’s shoulder. They sit there, quiet, and Chanyeol is content to let Jongin take whatever he needs from it. Content to give.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Chanyeol asks.

“Can we lie down?” Jongin asks. “Would that be okay?”

“Whatever you want,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin stands up, takes Chanyeol by the hand, leads him back to the bedroom, and it feels like the strangest, saddest deja vu. Jongin goes to the bed, pulls back the covers, and Chanyeol climbs under when Jongin holds them up for him. They turn to their sides, face each other, and it’s intimate, like holding each other by the heartstrings, or maybe by the wiring.

“He..” Jongin starts, but he closes his eyes, the tears falling again.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Jongin does. Waits until he’s quieted his cries, until his face is dry. Until his chest no longer heaves. And it’s so simple, what he says, but so scary.

“He was mean to me,” Jongin says.

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says. “Do you wanna—I don’t know, I don’t know if it would help you to talk about it or not, but if you want...I’m here for you.”

“It was just...I was lonely. I thought, well, I don’t really know what I was thinking,” Jongin confesses, laughing sadly. “It was a mess, and it got...it got really ugly at the end.”

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says again, the guilt swelling in him. It got ugly for them, too. And he’s already apologized for it, but he feels like maybe he’ll never stop apologizing, never stop _feeling the need_ to apologize.

“This is not your fault,” Jongin says softly.

 _Not this,_ Chanyeol thinks. _But the rest._

“It’s not your fault either,” Chanyeol says.

He breathes out, stutters it out.

“Sometimes I...sometimes I really think it’s me,” Jongin says, and his eyes are watery.

Chanyeol didn’t know his heart could break with just five words, but he supposes that the shortest things can sometimes be the worst. When the thoughts stretch on, there are reasons, explanations, and excuses. When they’re cut short, there’s silence. Just the absence. Just nothing. The echoes of what hasn’t been said.

“It’s not you,” Chanyeol says carefully. “It was me. And it was him.”

“There’s a lot I should have done differently,” Jongin says, voice cracking with emotion. “I...I did with him what you did to me. I wanted to, fuck, it sounds so stupid to say it out loud, but I wanted to feel better. I wanted him to make me feel better because I was so hurt and so sad, but all he did was make me feel worse.”

He breathes shallowly, sucking in air harshly. Chanyeol wants to comfort him, but he just...doesn’t know how anymore.

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol says. “You can—it’s alright, take your time.”

Jongin buries the side of his face into the pillow, face twisted up in pain, and Chanyeol wishes he could wipe it all away. Take everything back. But he can’t.

“It started off fine,” Jongin says. “He was happy, so I was happy. But we didn’t really...we weren’t really _together_ together, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I guess he didn’t like that,” Jongin huffs. “Well, I _know_ he didn’t like it.”

“Was it—was it like with me?” Chanyeol asks.

“Ha,” Jongin laughs sadly. “Worse. Much worse. And I’m not saying it because I’m trying to spare your feelings or make you feel better. It just...it was worse.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Chanyeol says. “If it hurts.”

“It does hurt,” Jongin says. “But I don’t know, it feels good to talk about with someone other than Mirae, you know? I mean, you can only tell someone the same thing so many times before they get sick of it.”

“She’s a good friend,” Chanyeol says. “She wouldn’t get sick of it.”

“Everyone gets sick of it, and it’s not their fault. If you keep doing the same shit over and over again, they don’t have anything left to tell you,” Jongin says.

Chanyeol thinks to Sehun. Jongin makes more sense than he knows.

“And I guess, I don’t know...it was just him trying to control where I went, who I saw, what I was doing...I mean, I almost didn’t make it into the entertainment company because I...I don’t know, I guess I just really wanted to make him happy, so I almost missed it because he asked me to,” Jongin says. “After all of it, I was so tired. I couldn’t do it anymore. It was...every day felt like a fucking year.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol frowns. “I’m—”

“It’s okay,” Jongin says. “But he...you know the No Harm, right?”

“No...No Harm,” Chanyeol says, searching his brain. And then he finds it, back in the recesses. _The No Harm Done Protocol._ He read the manual so many times. Watched the presentation so many times. Of course he knows. “He didn’t…did he? I mean—”

Chanyeol attempts to avoid imagining it, but his brain works overtime without him. A Jongin wiped clean. Everything about him, erased. Just a husk left over. His beautiful face, drained of emotion. _No,_ Chanyeol thinks. Here Jongin is in front of him, so much history. So _much_ emotion he nearly overflows with it.

“No,” Jongin smiles sadly, and Chanyeol can breathe out. “Only...well, he made sure I knew that he knew about it. How to do it.”

Chanyeol’s gotten good at controlling his anger. He’s got different ways of managing it. He’s got breathing exercises and running, focusing on the physical sensations, using humor as a way to handle it...none of that seems useful to him then, when the fires of rage burn through his stomach and up through his esophagus.  

“And he’s still calling you?” Chanyeol asks, trying like hell not to let it show on his face.

“I disabled him,” Jongin says. “But he pings me from a friend. He wants to apologize.”

 _Don’t let him_ , Chanyeol wants to scream. _Don’t let him anywhere near you._

“How do you feel about it?” he asks instead.

Jongin is shaken up, even just from dredging up the past. Chanyeol’s heart...was he ever close to making Jongin look this way? God, even the thought puts a knife in his throat.

“I feel fine,” Jongin says.

“Do you really?” Chanyeol says. “That’s...that’s a lot.”

“I’m...it was a while ago,” Jongin says. “It’s been hard, but I’ve been working on it.”

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone?” Chanyeol asks. “Like, maybe someone who was qualified?”

Jongin smiles, lifts a hand to clear away some of the tear tracks on his face.

“God, I don’t think I ever imagined _you_ saying that to _me_ ,” Jongin says. “But I have thought about it, I just...I need to find someone who will talk to me like a person.”

“I know someone,” Chanyeol smiles.

Jongin buries the side of his face into the pillow again, this time hiding a shy smile.

“Do you feel safe?” Chanyeol says. “You can—even if you didn’t want to stay here, you could stay with Sehun, or with...with Baekhyun, even…”

“I’m safe,” Jongin says like an assurance. “I don’t think he’d really do anything, I don’t think he ever wanted to hurt me. I think he just wanted to….to control me.”

Chanyeol doesn’t know how to feel about it, doesn’t even know what to say. Just wants to make it all okay.

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says. “That you keep having to go through this stuff.”

“Stop. I don’t want you to compare yourself to him,” Jongin says.

“You have the tendency to give people love they don’t deserve,” Chanyeol says. “And that goes for him and for me.”

“Stop,” Jongin says. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong,” Chanyeol says. “You stayed way longer than I deserved with the way I was treating you. You—I didn’t earn the loyalty you showed me. I bought it.”

Jongin stretches out, touches Chanyeol’s cheek.  

“You didn’t buy it,” Jongin says. “I just...I liked you. From the very start.”

“I don’t...I’m not trying to fish here,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve just thought about it a lot.”

Jongin blinks slow.

“You have?”

“Of course. On Sundays.”

Jongin smiles.

“On Sundays?”

“I’m learning,” Chanyeol says.

“What are you learning?” Jongin asks.

“How to talk to you,” Chanyeol says. “How to treat you. How to respect you.”

“That’s a lot of me,” Jongin says.

“After four or five months of focusing on myself,” Chanyeol says, smiling, “it’s nice to think about something else for a change. So, status report. How am I doing so far?”

“Good.” Jongin smiles. “Really good.”

Chanyeol smiles back. “Dr. Kang will be relieved to hear it.”

There is a soft moment there, built beneath the blankets and between them, where Jongin leans in. Eyes slipping shut. Searching. Chanyeol breathes in. It would be easy. It really would be. He shuts his eyes.

Opens them again.

“You should sleep,” Chanyeol says softly. “You might feel better when you wake up.”

Jongin’s eyes open slow.

“Okay,” he says. “Should I go?”

“You can stay if you want,” Chanyeol says. “I’ll get you up in an hour or so.”

“Okay,” Jongin says, and he snuggles into the covers, eyes closing again. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Chanyeol says. “You want the lights off?”

“Dim is fine,” Jongin whispers.

Chanyeol clicks his earpiece as he stands up.

“M, dim the lights to 35 percent,” Chanyeol says as quietly as he can manage.

The lights slide down, and Chanyeol tucks Jongin in.

“Mm,” he hums.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Chanyeol says, and he leaves, the door slipping shut behind him.

 

⚠

 

Jongin finds him on his own, hair a wet mess. Face washed clean.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, and he clicks his earpiece. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did you get a shower?”

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind. I was trying to be quiet,” Jongin smiles, and he looks over Chanyeol’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Just working on something,” Chanyeol says.

“What is it?” Jongin asks.

“A song for Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says. “It’s not—it’s not pressing or anything, so…”

“Could I hear it?” Jongin asks.

“Ah, I don’t know, it’s still really rough,” Chanyeol says. “I’m still in the mixing stage.”

“Oh, the _mixing stage_.” Jongin smirks.

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says, rolling his eyes.

“Play it,” Jongin prods.

Chanyeol turns back to the screen. Presses his earpiece again before tapping the playback button.

Baekhyun’s voice is still unbalanced against the background bass, but it’s getting there. He makes mental notes to himself as they listen, and Chanyeol shifts in his seat at the beat switch-up, the slower, sadder, more _sensual_ piano and drums kicking in as Baekhyun’s voice soars.

“He’s got a nice voice,” Jongin comments.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “He’s good at this.”

“ _You’re_ good at this,” Jongin says.

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says. “I’m still learning.”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” Jongin says, looking around at the room. “It’s...it’s amazing.”

“You’re being generous,” Chanyeol says.

“I’m not,” Jongin says, and his face goes deadly serious. “I never lied to you.”

Chanyeol looks down, stares at his hands before he taps the screen. The music halts.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin says.

“No, I, uh,” Chanyeol says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I deserved that.”

“Just...I’m saying what I feel,” Jongin says. “So you should trust me.”

“I do,” Chanyeol says. “I really do. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jongin says happily. “Let me hear some more. Something different.”

“Something different?” Chanyeol asks. “Well, he dabbles in all sorts of genres…”

Jongin kneels on the floor beside him, eventually pulls up a chair, lets Chanyeol talk his ear off about the dumb shit he likes more than anything now, and his attention never falters. He just watches Chanyeol intently. Is he boring him? Should he shut up?  

But _trust me_ , Jongin had said.

 _Okay,_ Chanyeol thinks. _Now that I finally trust myself, I think I can finally trust you too._

 

⚠

 

Jongin is strong, so it does not surprise Chanyeol that he sees improvement, albeit slow improvement. Improvement with help. He gets a new earpiece from the store where Chanyeol initially picked him out, so the calls and the pings stop. He always comes to dinner after his shows on Saturday nights. His weekly talks with Dr. Kang are on Tuesday evenings.

“Tuesdays are the only days we don’t have rehearsals,” Jongin tells him. “And honestly, now that I’m going regularly, i-it’s amazing. I didn’t realize how much I needed it. Someone neutral.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, “it’s helpful in a really basic way.”

“Yeah,” Jongin agrees. “Simple.”

Jongin receives no med-col, not like Chanyeol, but with the chance to talk freely, to act freely, Chanyeol sees the weight lifted from his shoulders. He stands straighter. Walks with the same dancer’s grace, but less stoic. More...joyful.

And Chanyeol gets curious. How could he not? Jongin’s eyes shine whenever he talks about the shows, whenever he gets to talk about dancing, whenever Chanyeol asks. He’s never been one for that kind of programming, but he rushes home one Saturday night after work, plugs in just in time to see the show start.

The picture is crystal clear and three dimensional, sitting in the center of his living area. And the golden rain of confetti falls as the announcer begins. There’s a different line-up every week, even Chanyeol knows that, so he watches through a segment of flags set to music, a laser light and water show, a magician who does a mind-reading trick on a guest in the admittedly small live audience, and then...then, he sees the dancers emerge.

It should not be surprising that Jongin is front and center, but Chanyeol bites his lip when he sees Jongin up close, smiling brightly. There are other androids there among the fifty or so dancers, a Taemin and two Joys and a Minho, but Jongin stands in the center, handpicked from all the droids and the humans alike. As they start to move, it looks almost as though the formations were designed around him specifically.

Their costumes are gaudy, purple and red and with _feathers_ , dazzling with rhinestones that reflect light. He wears no piercings, Chanyeol notices, only an intricate swirling design of stones at his cheek, lips painted and glimmering with glitter.

Chanyeol doesn’t know much about dance, but he knows talent when he sees it. Jongin commands attention, takes it in his hands and keeps it for his own. Chanyeol cannot look away from him as he moves, as he leaps and turns. He wears a look of pure happiness that Chanyeol has never seen before. And maybe, Chanyeol thinks, just maybe, this was the reason Jongin was built.

The rest of the dancers fall to the stage dramatically, and Jongin jumps, soars before landing among them.

He was built for this.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol meets Jongin outside the building, as the restaurant for the evening is nearby.

“Hey,” Jongin says, smiling, wrapped up in sweats and a scarf and his big coat. “Hope I didn’t keep you too long. Glitter is so hard to get off.”

Chanyeol laughs, and he reaches forward, brushes a magenta sparkle away from his brow.

“Missed a little,” Chanyeol says.

“Fuck me,” Jongin says, combing through his eyebrows and then his hair with his fingernails. “I’m gonna have to talk to them about that.”

“Be careful,” Chanyeol says. “They seem like they hold grudges. They might doom you to a life of only glitter."

“Ah,” Jongin cries, clinging to Chanyeol’s arm. “Help me. Save me.”

“Will food suffice?” Chanyeol asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jongin says. “ _Food._ ”

His appetite is ravenous after his shows, and maybe it has something to do with the adrenaline, but he holds Chanyeol’s hand as they walk, Chanyeol occasionally clicking his earpiece to make sure they’re going the right way.

“I, uh,” Chanyeol starts awkwardly, “I watched your show tonight.”

And Jongin pulls him to a stop.

“You watched?” he asks.

“Should I not have?”

“No!” Jongin says. “I mean, you _should_! You should watch! If you want, of course! Not that you have to, but—”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol smiles, and he pulls Jongin forward into a hug. “You were amazing tonight.”

Jongin’s intake of breath is sharp, and he holds it.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Chanyeol says, and he squeezes him tight. “You were the best one by a light-year.”

“Oh, stop,” Jongin says. “You’re just being nice.”

“No, I’m telling you the truth. I couldn’t seem to look at anyone but you. You were...you were incredible. You’re a star,” Chanyeol says.

“S-stop,” Jongin says, and his voice is tense like he means to cry.

“Have I upset you?” Chanyeol asks, and he starts to pull back, but Jongin pulls him right back in.

“No,” Jongin says. “That just...meant a lot to me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chanyeol says, and he pats Jongin on the back gently. “Let’s get you some food, okay?”

Jongin sniffs. “Yeah,” he says, and Chanyeol can hear the smile.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol finds himself speeding home every Saturday evening now, no stopping for anything. He always just barely makes it, kicking off his shoes against the door and quickly getting to the couch before the room fills with lights and sounds.

He didn’t realize he would be so into it, but he likes it. After all, it’s a program made to cater to every taste, no matter how strange. He watches in awe as a contortionist fits themself into a box, slightly horrified, but altogether quite impressed.

Jongin shines, no matter the choreography, no matter the style. He is able to match whatever the tone is, and more than anything, it makes Chanyeol think that this is more than dancing for him. It makes Chanyeol _feel_ something, watching Jongin dance, and somehow he doesn’t think that is an experience unique to him.

Now, Chanyeol always meets Jongin after the show, stands by the stage door and waits until he pads out, only just barely wiped clean of makeup, eagerly awaiting Chanyeol’s thoughts on the show. They vary, of course. He has preferences for the music choices and the style directions, but one thing never changes: Jongin is amazing. Incredible. Near perfect.

Because Jongin never lets Chanyeol call his performance perfect, no matter how perfect it looks to Chanyeol’s unmodded eyes.

“There’s always room for improvement,” Jongin says, and he jumps in the air in the middle of the sidewalk, casual as he repeatedly crosses his feet, beating them together. He turns to Chanyeol, points. “Quiz. Go.”

“En...entrechat,” Chanyeol says.

“Good!” Jongin says. “Which?”

He leaps into the air again and again, practically a rabbit, and he continues to beat his feet, leaping from side to side.

“Six?” Chanyeol guesses.

“Quatre, silly,” Jongin says.

“Because you don’t travel with six,” Chanyeol says. “I’m a dope.”

“Incorrect!” Jongin says, continuing to jump through the air as if jumping from cloud to cloud. “You know more about ballet than most of my company.”

Chanyeol bites across a smile as he watches Jongin move to the music of the night.

The restaurant for the evening is too far for a walk though, so he calls a car, and they sit there next to each other, thigh against thigh as the self-driver moves them from place to place. Jongin is warm, grinning as he looks out the window, Chanyeol’s hand in his.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, squeezing Jongin’s hand in his.

Jongin turns, looks. The city lights shine behind him.

“Hey,” Jongin says.

“I was wondering,” Chanyeol says.

“What were you wondering?”

“How hard is it to get entrance to a show?” Chanyeol asks.

“Depends,” Jongin says, thumb rubbing along Chanyeol’s. “For normal people or for you?”

“For normal people,” Chanyeol says. “Since I am normal people.”

“No, you aren’t,” Jongin says. “If you wanted to see it, I could get you in.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Chanyeol says.

“You wouldn’t have to ask,” Jongin says. “Next week. Will you come?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “If you—”

“I do. I’ll get your number on the scanner,” Jongin says, and he curls up next to Chanyeol, and the warmth spreads.

 

⚠

 

He gets a message on Friday afternoon with details from the organizers. He is to be in line at no later than 6 o’clock sharp. He is to wear all black. He is to wear his hair neatly, and once he is in the building, his earpiece must be taken off and disabled until filming has ceased.

“Yeah,” Jongin says via a message. “They take this shit seriously. But it’s fine, I think they’re just concerned with the overhead shots of the crowd, and obviously they don’t want any interruptions with like, pings and shit.”

Chanyeol tries not to let it scare him: _he’s_ not the one performing, so there’s no reason to be nervous.

Still, the nerves sit in a twisting ball in his stomach, and don’t settle until he is sitting in the center of the crowd, eyes trained on the stage.

The pleasant android voice counts down as the lights go down, and Chanyeol sits in the darkness, waiting for the show to go on.

The wall of light and sound that explodes forth overwhelms all of his senses, and he is shocked into applause as it all begins. The signature golden rain of confetti rains down, and he catches some in his hand, grinning stupidly.

The show speeds by, and it seems like each time he blinks, a new act is on stage, each dazzling and enchanting in their own right. It’s a spectacle the likes of which he’s never experienced before. He enjoys himself, claps along with the rest of the crowd, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for the dancers. And he waits. And waits. And waits more. Because the dancers appear last, the grand finale, and Chanyeol nearly leaps to his feet.

At first, Chanyeol can’t find him. He searches and searches through the pirouetting dancers, dressed in fitted black ensembles. The screen behind them is all white save for pink petals falling from cherry blossom trees. When the instrumental swells, the petals really start to fall from the sky, and Chanyeol looks up, sees them float down like a calm cerise storm.

When he looks back to the stage, Jongin is there, standing among the stillness of the rest of the dancers, and he is staring right at Chanyeol, face serene as he begins his solo.

There is something so special about him, and as he whips through the petals, showered in pink, Chanyeol is forced to acknowledge that maybe there will always be a part of him that loves Jongin, even if Jongin doesn’t love him back.

It isn’t the same love, though. It is a love that has learned. Become...kinder, he likes to think. More patient.

He smiles as Jongin does, the end of the performance triumphant and hopeful, and when Jongin looks at Chanyeol again, it is with an inherent pride, the kind that cannot be stripped away.

 

⚠

 

Chanyeol stays past when everyone else in the crowd has filed out, and eventually, he’s forced to hang by the front of the stage as the vacuums under the floors start running, funneling all of the confetti and petals out of the building until there was no sign of them ever being there in the first place.

“Hey,” Jongin says, rushing out, still dressed in his costume, still all made up. His eyelids are shimmery pink, lips painted a warm red. He looks like a rose.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin opens his arms, asks for a hug that Chanyeol grants easily. “You were even better live.”

“Don’t say that,” Jongin says. “The whole point is that the show is just as good at home.”

“I don’t wanna lie,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin laughs, shaking in Chanyeol’s arms.

Jongin withdraws, smiling proudly at Chanyeol.

“You really liked it?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I loved it.”

Jongin’s smile goes shy. “Thank you,” he says.

“I’m...I’m really proud of you,” Chanyeol says. “You found what you were meant to do.”

Jongin’s eyes brim with tears, and he pulls Chanyeol close again, their bodies making that same line they always used to make.

“S-stop,” he says.

“I’m serious,” Chanyeol says quietly. “I am so, so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Jongin says. “For everything.”

The embrace lasts and lasts, and Chanyeol takes heart in it, in the fact that maybe he is deserving of Jongin's trust, Jongin's great desire to love and be loved, once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh.........sorry for the long wait between updates........cant believe the last time i updated was last year!!!! 
> 
> ok, get out of here, suho, no one wants those jokes, shoo shoo. 
> 
> anyway, happy new year, my beautiful little ground squirrels. i hope you had an excellent countdown to the brand spankin new year, and i wish u and ur loved ones all health and happiness and prosperity in 2019! lets hope this one is not as garbage as 2018.
> 
> as always thanks for reading, thanks for always commenting and brightening my day. you can follow my twitter (@wolfsupremacist) for strange opinions and bad jokes, and you can ask me questions at curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist if you feel the desire. i am sorry for this insanely long update but i just had so much to say kjsdakjg. and god, as we close this out, i am getting more and more emotional. 
> 
> wow i am truly all Sad™ thinking about how there are only two chapters left. Send Your Thoughts and Prayers. i hope you all enjoy the ending.
> 
> ok love u lots. get good rest. moisturize. drink more water. be nice to the other kids, share your toys, and cover your mouth when you cough. have a great week. same time, same place next week sound good?


	25. twenty five

It’s not linear. That’s the lesson he’s learned and learned well. 

They move back and forth, and there’s something calm about the movement. Gentle rocking from side to side, the natural rise and fall of the waves. There are good days, and there are bad, but that is how it was meant to be. Having people to celebrate with, to commiserate with, to cry with, to laugh with...there is beauty in it. There is beauty in the movement. 

He takes great pride in being able to be there for his friends in a way that he once wasn’t able to be. Which is why Sehun sits on his couch, legs crossed. 

“I don’t know why I’m here, and I’d like to leave,” Sehun says primly. 

“The doors are locked,” Chanyeol says. 

“I know your passcode,” Sehun says. 

“Sit,” Chanyeol commands. “Stay.” 

“I have a feeling you’re going to try to make me talk, since you’re like, in touch with your feelings now, but let me just be clear about this: some of us prefer being repressed,” Sehun says. 

“No one prefers being repressed,” Chanyeol says. 

“You did,” Sehun says. “And I still do.” 

“Talk to me,” Chanyeol says. 

“I’d prefer not to,” Sehun says, and he folds his arms across his chest. 

“Are you really not with him?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Of course I’m not,” Sehun says. “Why would you think we were together?” 

“You like him,” Chanyeol says gesturing to the side before gesturing to the other. “He likes you. Two plus two equals—” 

“It’s not like that,” Sehun says. “So don’t.” 

“Am I wrong?” Chanyeol says. “You don’t like him?” 

“He doesn’t like me like that,” Sehun says. 

“Sure he does,” Chanyeol says. 

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Sehun says. “God, it was easier when you were crazy, you never got involved in my personal drama.” 

“I know, right?” Chanyeol smiles. “I like this more.” 

“I don’t,” Sehun says crossly. 

“Are you nervous because Baekhyun and I were together?” Chanyeol asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“Firstly, I’m not having sex with him, so no. Secondly, even if I was, I have no reason to be nervous,” Sehun says. 

“You’re not having sex?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Are _you_ having sex?” Sehun asks. “What the fuck? Why are we talking about sex? Can I go now?” 

He stands up sharply, but Chanyeol pulls him back to the couch, tackles him to the cushions and holds him down underneath his weight. 

“Just because you’ve been working out, you think you can push me around?” Sehun says. “You...you piece of garbage. You refuse chute of a human male. You asshole of the universe. No, you’re worse than an asshole. You inflamed urethra of the universe.” 

“I’ve never been called a urethra before.” Chanyeol smiles. 

Sehun grimaces. “Yeah, well, Baekhyun certainly improves aspects of my vocabulary.”

“There you go again.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Seriously. What’s up with you two?” Chanyeol asks. 

“He’s not interested,” Sehun says. “He’s made that clear.” 

“Please,” Chanyeol scoffs. “He’s interested.” 

“Maybe the way he was interested in you,” Sehun says. 

“What’s that mean?” Chanyeol asks. Sehun looks to the side, genuinely upset, and Chanyeol scrambles up, pulls Sehun along with him until they’re both sitting again. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Sehun says. “You know how Baekhyun is.” 

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Chanyeol says. 

But there’s something that doesn’t sit quite right with him. He’s seen the way Baekhyun looks at Sehun. Baekhyun is casual like falling leaves, drifting through the air, but there’s something there Chanyeol’s never seen before. Even when they were in the midst of...whatever it is that they did. 

“Have you thought about—” 

“We’ve talked about it,” Sehun says. “Contrary to your brand new outlook on life, talking doesn’t fix everything.” 

Sehun continues to mumble to himself angrily as he starts swiping through M-media for something to watch, and in that way, it’s very easy for Chanyeol to reaffirm his newfound belief that talking does, in fact, fix most things. Talking and honesty.  
  


⚠

Chanyeol leans against the wall as he waits for Jongin after his show that weekend, and though he tries to ignore it, the whole conversation leaves a strange taste in Chanyeol’s mouth. It’s not that he _can’t_ leave it alone. It’s just that he doesn’t want to. Sehun is Chanyeol’s oldest friend. Baekhyun is his newest, but even so, they have a history now. And they’d worked out a nice understanding between the three of th—

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Jongin asks, smiling. 

He shifts his bag over his shoulder, takes Chanyeol’s hand in his. 

“Baekhyun and Sehun,” Chanyeol sighs. 

“What about them?” Jongin asks. “Are they okay?” 

“They’re fine, they’re just all...I don’t know,” Chanyeol says, shaking his head. “They like each other, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jongin smiles. “They do.” 

“We should do something about it,” Chanyeol says. 

“What do you mean?” Jongin asks. 

“I don’t know. We need to figure out a way to, like, get them to confront their emotions!” Chanyeol says. 

“You’re very passionate about this,” Jongin laughs. 

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he looks down at their hands tangled together. “Sehun always...he’s always trying to help me. Ever since we were younger. I guess I just wanted to help him for a change. Is that stupid?” 

“No, I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” Jongin says. “Is there any way I can help?” 

Chanyeol reaches up, brushes back Jongin’s hair from his eyes. And the light hits a bit glitter still at the high point of his cheek. 

Then, it hits him. 

“Yes, there is,” Chanyeol says, and he pulls Jongin off quickly, his laughter echoing in the cavernous alleyway.  
  


⚠

“Okay, you have to _sell_ it,” Chanyeol instructs, Jongin’s arm slung over his shoulder as they limp towards the gastropub slowly.

“I’ve never acted before,” Jongin whispers worriedly. “What if I’m bad at it?” 

“Then everything goes to hell,” Chanyeol says. “Be good at acting.” 

“Okay,” Jongin says, and he starts trembling, voice shaking. “H-how’s that?” 

“Really…really good?” Chanyeol says, and he tightens his hold along Jongin’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, okay, I’m good at acting,” Jongin says, and he straightens back up a bit with a proud smile. “I wonder if I can cry on command. Give me a minute.” 

“Let’s exercise some restraint,” Chanyeol says. 

When they enter the restaurant, Jongin’s foot drags behind him, and he moans in pain softly, like a wounded animal. Chanyeol bites down on a laugh, because really, this is so ridiculous, he can’t even believe it was his idea. He hopes it just ends up making him look concerned. Jongin would never let him live it down if _he_ was the reason they got caught. 

“What the fuck?” Baekhyun yells, standing up from his spot at the table. “What did you do to my large metal son?” 

“I fell,” Jongin whines. “In the show.” 

“Oh shit, do you—” Sehun says, and he stands up, rushes to Jongin’s side. He shoulders some of the weight, and Chanyeol looks at him fondly. “Do you need anything?” 

“Are you okay?” Baekhyun asks. “Should we...should you sit?” 

“I think it would be good for him to go home,” Chanyeol says. “Maybe he can fix it there.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Baekhyun says, and he rushes over. “Do you need help getting him home?” 

“ _No_ ,” Jongin whines. “I don’t want to ruin your night. Stay. Have dinner.” 

“What?” Baekhyun says. 

“He’s right,” Chanyeol says. “You guys should stay. I’ll get him home safe, don’t worry.” 

“O-okay,” Baekhyun says. “Ping us if you need anything.” 

“We will,” Jongin says, and he moves his arm from around Sehun, tightens his hold on Chanyeol. “Sorry.” 

“No,” Sehun says. “Y-you’re fine.” 

His face begins to twist, shift into understanding, so Chanyeol drags Jongin away, and Jongin smartly lets out a wounded noise. 

“See you guys later,” Chanyeol says. “Enjoy dinner!” 

The doors swipe shut behind him, and Chanyeol can feel their eyes on them as they leave, walking past the large, full-length windows at the storefront. 

“Do you think they believed us?” Jongin whispers. 

“They didn’t follow us yet,” Chanyeol says. “Just keep limping.” 

They round the corner, into the alley, and there’s a smaller window there. _Perfect_. 

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, and he crouches down below it to peek through. They can see straight through to where Sehun and Baekhyun are sitting. “Get down. Look.” 

“This feels like an anime,” Jongin says happily as he scoots down beside Chanyeol to watch. “Oh, look—” 

They sit there, kneeling on the grimy pavement of the alleyway, and they rest their heads against each others as they watch Sehun and Baekhyun talk. 

“I wish we knew what they were saying,” Chanyeol whispers. 

Jongin turns, watches Chanyeol for a moment before turning back to the window. 

“What?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Are you serious?” Jongin asks. “I can hear them, dund.” 

_Of course._

“God, I love you,” Chanyeol says happily before realizing what he’s just said. And then he realizes what he’s said. He stares at Jongin, staring back at him. Bright, wide eyes. Shining in the dark.“I—” 

“Y-you…” 

“I’m sorry,” Chanyeol says, and he looks away quickly. “Sorry, what are they saying?” 

Beats of silence like the thumping of his heart. 

“They’re talking about us,” Jongin says quietly. 

“What about us?” Chanyeol says. 

“Sehun thinks we were faking,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol looks, sees him smirking. “And he thinks it’s a trick. To get them to talk.” 

“He’s too smart for his own good,” Chanyeol grouses. “Are they gonna leave? What—what does Baekhyun think?” 

“He thinks they should talk,” Jongin says in awe. 

“Yeah?” Chanyeol says. “Oh my god, it’s working.” 

“It’s working,” Jongin confirms. “They...oh, Sehun is talking now. H-he’s hurt.” 

“I _knew_ it,” Chanyeol says. 

“He wants more than a physical relationship,” Jongin says, and he smiles. “He doesn’t want something temporary. Something _ephemeral_.” 

“Trust him to say something silly like _ephemeral_ ,” Chanyeol laughs. 

Jongin looks over at him. “What’s silly about that?” 

“Look at who he’s talking to,” Chanyeol says. “Chizz nasty baby, vixiest of them all.” 

“Never say that again,” Jongin says. 

“But you get my point,” Chanyeol says. “He has to use the right love language.” 

“And?” Jongin prompts, leaning into Chanyeol’s space. 

“And?” 

“And what’s the right love language?” Jongin asks. “You were with him, right? You must know.” 

Chanyeol shrinks. He knows Jongin knows, but they’ve never really… _talked_ about Baekhyun that way. Never needed to. There was no great trauma there, so it was unnecessary to discuss. Until now, he supposes. 

“I don’t,” he says, shrugging. “We were never really...I mean, I never loved him in that way.” 

“Oh,” Jongin says, and he nods as if he understands. “Casual.” 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Casual.” 

“Well,” Jongin says. “Have you thought about my love language? Or yours?” 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, smiling softly. “A bit.” 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Jongin says, and he nudges his shoulder into Chanyeol’s as they watch, Sehun taking Baekhyun’s hands in his. 

“Words of affirmation,” Chanyeol says, and he looks down at the edge of the window, at the dirt that’s accumulated since the last cleaning. “That’s you.” 

“Yeah?” Jongin smiles. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, “and there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“What about you?” Jongin smiles. “What’s your love language?” 

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol says shyly. “I guess that’s a question for someone else.” 

“For me?” 

“Maybe.” 

Chanyeol looks to him, and Jongin looks back. 

“What are they talking about?” Chanyeol asks quietly. 

Jongin looks back through the window. Chanyeol does the same, and he watches the smiles blossom on Baekhyun’s and Sehun’s face. Chanyeol looks at Jongin: he shuts his eyes, and he smiles. There is a peaceful quality to him. There always has been. Chanyeol took that, used it so much when they were together. Never fully appreciated it, though. Now, he thinks, now he can appreciate it. Appreciate the beauty. 

“They’re going to try,” Jongin whispers. “They want to try.” 

“We did it,” Chanyeol says, excitedly watching as Sehun stands, and Baekhyun stands to meet him. 

Sehun presses a kiss to Baekhyun’s lips, chaste. Pure. Chanyeol can’t help but grin, watching. Sehun deserves this, deserve some joy of his own. But as soon as they separate, Sehun whips his head to the side, looking to their window, and Chanyeol drops to the ground as if he was shocked. 

“ _Get down_ ,” Chanyeol whispers, and he pulls Jongin to the pavement by the sleeve of his coat, until they are hidden by the wall. 

They stare at each other for a moment before they burst into laughter. 

“Oh my god,” Jongin gasps. “I can’t believe we—” 

He never finishes his statement, just grabs Chanyeol by the shoulder and shakes through his laughter. Eventually, after a while, it peters out, and they are left breathing heavily, chests heaving. It’s reminiscent of days past, of nights they spent in each other’s atmospheres. 

_Oh_ , Chanyeol thinks, trying not to fall. _No. I shouldn’t._

Chanyeol looks at Jongin’s mouth, the way he licks his bottom lip, and he...he is in love. He loves Jongin. If it’s wrong, he’s sorry for it, but he can’t ignore it much longer. Can’t ignore it at all. 

“I—,” Jongin starts, but again, he doesn’t finish, just closes the small gap. 

They kneel against the street as their hands come to each other’s neck, and they hold each other so carefully when they press their lips together once more. 

It is good, immediately so because they know each other so well. They know insides and outsides, the marrow and micros of the other. It is pretty, the way they share breath, the way they share secrets. It is elegant, the gentle fingers and gentle gasps. But more than anything, more than anything else, it is delicate. Fine in its intricacies, in its meaning. They have never kissed this way before, like they mean to do it forever, like they have found each other amidst great pain, great suffering. And it’s true, isn’t it? Chanyeol thinks. Thinks, thinks as his lips move against Jongin’s. They have come so far. Been through so much. 

He is the one to withdraw, to brush his fingers against his lips, wet with Jongin. 

“W-we...,” Chanyeol starts. 

“We,” Jongin says, smiling. 

“I-I’ll take you home,” Chanyeol says. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Jongin says quietly. 

Chanyeol pulls Jongin to his feet, and the walk home is quiet. He holds Jongin’s hand as they go. He feels himself sweat, but he never pulls away to brush at his pants. When they finally reach Jongin’s building, he smiles at Chanyeol coyly.

“Do you want to come up?” he asks. 

“You go,” Chanyeol says. 

“O-oh. Okay,” Jongin stutters. “Are you...are you okay to go home on your own?” 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he takes Jongin in his arms. Hugs him close. 

“Ping me when you get home, alright?” Jongin asks into the stiff fabric of Chanyeol’s coat. 

“Yeah,” he says, because of course he will. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do to make Jongin happy.  
  


⚠

It is a long walk home, almost too long to walk. Usually, he gets a car home from Jongin’s. That night, though, he walks. What has he done? What precarious balance has he thoughtlessly thrown through the window?

He tries desperately not to get bogged down in his own thoughts, but it’s hard. Things were going so well. They had worked themselves into a perfect rhythm. Now, _what_? What happens from here? 

He reaches to his mouth, fingertips brushing against his lips again. It was so familiar, but so new. There was a fresh confidence in Jongin’s movements, something he must have learned away from Chanyeol. The thought sits in Chanyeol’s throat like fire, and it drips down into his stomach. Lighting the way. 

They shouldn’t have done that. I-it was good. So good. But they shouldn’t have. 

His aside carries him home, and when he slips off his shoes by the door, he immediately clicks his earpiece. 

“M, Jongin,” he says, before he leaves his ping. “I’m home. Safe and sound.” 

He walks to the kitchen, immediately presses at his machine for coffee, but before it’s even started to dispense, he gets a call. Chanyeol presses his earpiece again. 

“Hi,” Jongin says. And his voice is so sweet. 

“Hi,” Chanyeol says. 

And there’s quiet. A little gap to sit between. 

“Y-you took a lot longer than I thought,” Jongin says. “I was getting nervous.” 

Chanyeol laughs, rubs his neck as his coffee starts to pour out from the machine. “No, I, uh...I walked home.” 

“You walked?” Jongin asks. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “So it took me a little while.” 

“Oh,” Jongin says. “That makes sense.” 

“Yeah,” he says. 

Another little gap, quiet. Wide enough for them to lie down in. 

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says, breaking through it with something he needs to say, something he owes Jongin. 

“What are you sorry for?” 

“I’m sorry about...about what happened,” Chanyeol says. “I just thought we should talk about it.” 

The coffee stops spitting out, but Chanyeol walks away from it, goes to the couch and lies down, hands folded across his stomach. 

“You kissed me,” Jongin says. 

Even the words send shivers along his skin, goosebumps lining his arms. They _kissed_. It’s childish, to get so electrified by something so simple, and yet… 

“Wait, I kissed _you_?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Yes,” Jongin says happily. “You did.” 

“I feel like it was you who kissed me,” Chanyeol says. 

“That’s because you don’t know anything,” Jongin says. “Trust me.” 

“Why should I?” Chanyeol says. 

“Because I’m very good,” Jongin says sleepily. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol sleepily agrees. “But can I be honest with you?”

“Always,” Jongin says, and God, Chanyeol _loves_ him. And it’s scary. It’s not scary, but it is. 

“I...I don’t want to rush into anything. You understand what I mean, right?” Chanyeol says. 

“Y-yeah,” Jongin says, and the air expels from him. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Chanyeol says. “I...I really liked it.” 

“Me too,” Jongin says. 

“I just think we should be careful,” Chanyeol says. “Does that make sense?” 

He won’t tear the paper heart. Won’t let it rip. 

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “It does.” 

They talk until Chanyeol falls asleep, but in the morning, Chanyeol checks the log: Jongin stays on the call long after, and Chanyeol doesn’t know if it’s because he too fell asleep or because he was just listening to Chanyeol breathe.  
  


⚠

Perhaps, he should be surprised when nothing changes between them. He can’t find it in himself, though. Their story has been so fraught, so _complicated_ , and they both find it easy to protect themselves and protect each other. To make sure it’s right. Their friendship is reward enough. It’s not always necessary to romanticize things.

Jongin comes to his place some evenings, and they watch animes on his couch. They cook for each other. Jongin listens to his music, gives his thoughts. Teaches Chanyeol a few basic dance moves. He always puts his hands on Chanyeol’s waist, guides him. 

There are times when Chanyeol simply cannot help himself. 

“You’re comfortable,” Jongin says, head resting on Chanyeol’s shoulder as they ride to Sehun’s place for dinner. They do it a lot now, the four of them. Whenever they get the opportunity, they take it. 

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, and he lays his head on Jongin’s. 

“It’s nice,” Jongin comments, “that Sehun and Baekhyun worked it out.” 

“Nice is one word for it,” Chanyeol says. 

They are a menace, the two of them together. The metaphorical dam having been broken, they flow everywhere, even where they shouldn’t. He makes the mental note to ping Sehun before they swipe into his building. Chanyeol has made the mistake enough now. _Always ping before._

“Yeah,” Jongin says sleepily. “Nice.” 

_Nice_ , Chanyeol thinks. Would it be nice if they could let each other love again? Would it stay nice? He trusts himself. He trusts Jongin. 

So what is he waiting for? 

Jongin takes Chanyeol’s hand in his, traces the heart line on his palm. 

He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know.  
  


⚠

“Get out,” Baekhyun says, shoving Jongin through the door. “We’re trying to—”

“Do not say it,” Chanyeol says. “And stop pushing him.” 

“Then leave,” Baekhyun says. “You’ve already had dessert and coffee while discussing the latest stupid show you’re all obsessed with.” 

Sehun smiles at Baekhyun good-naturedly, kisses the top of his head. Baekhyun turns into it, into Sehun’s embrace. He makes himself small, tucks his face into Sehun’s chest. Goes quiet. 

“We’ll get going,” Chanyeol says. “Thanks for holding back for three hours.” 

“It was a struggle,” Baekhyun grouses. 

Jongin shares his laughter with Chanyeol as they walk out of the building, back to their ordered car. The night is cold, and Jongin immediately reaches for Chanyeol’s hand as they sit in the back of the car that immediately starts off to Jongin’s. 

“W-would I be able to stay over tonight?” 

Chanyeol turns, looks down at Jongin who slumps into his seat. 

“Is everything okay?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “Sorry, t—” 

“No, uh, you can stay over if you want,” Chanyeol says, and he grabs the keypad, immediately reroutes them. “Sorry, I should have...I should have asked.” 

“No, I...well, never mind,” Jongin says, and he cuddles into Chanyeol’s side. “Thank you.” 

Jongin is quiet on the way back, thoughtful, and Chanyeol does not interrupt. Lets him speak when he wants to, when they’ve taken off their shoes and they pad through the living room. 

“Sometimes I…,” Jongin starts, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“Sometimes what?” Chanyeol asks.

“Sometimes I just hate being alone,” Jongin says. “Do you ever feel like that?” 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “Sometimes.” 

He hugs Chanyeol close. He expels warmth. Chanyeol soaks it all up. 

“Am I pitiful?” Jongin whispers. 

“What?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Am I...do you think I’m pathetic?” he says softly. 

Chanyeol adjusts Jongin in his embrace. 

“Why would you think that?” Chanyeol asks. “Why would _I_ think that?” 

“You have everything under control, you know what you’re doing,” Jongin says. “I don’t feel like I ever know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m always drifting from place to place.” 

“I don’t think that makes you pathetic,” Chanyeol says. “I think that makes you human.” 

Jongin looks up into Chanyeol’s eyes, and Chanyeol sees so much there. He has always been much more than what he appears, sheltering emotions deep within his inner machinations, but now it is backlit, drawn into sharp contrast. He glows, blue and red, light and dark. 

What is it about this, the human condition, he wonders, that complicates people? Why is it so simple for this great, terrible game to vivisect and then infect even the purest of its players? It activates something in him, though, something akin to fight or flight, a knee jerk. Calling from deep within his own inner machinations, he feels an overwhelming need to protect. He wants to shield what’s left of that purity, that beautiful generosity of spirit. 

“You think so?” Jongin asks. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I think the cruelest thing about life is that we’re so easily tricked into thinking we’re the only person in the world who feels lost.” 

“You feel that way too?” Jongin asks. 

“All the time,” Chanyeol says.

Jongin closes his eyes, smiles.

“Is it bad that that makes me feel better?” Jongin asks, and he bats his eyelashes with a blink, completely unaware of how beautiful he’s always been, always will be. No matter what he’s been through. 

“Nah,” Chanyeol says. “It’s not bad.” 

Jongin rubs at his eyes. He must be tired. 

“You can take the bed,” Chanyeol says. 

“No. Stay with me,” Jongin says. 

He squeezes Chanyeol’s hand in his. 

“Okay,” Chanyeol says.  
  


⚠

Jongin stays over sometimes, when he doesn’t want to be alone. Chanyeol tries not to dwell on the way they always wake up tucked into each other, cozy and warm in the heart of winter.

Chanyeol thinks of the kiss at night, when he is alone and the tickling waters run over his chest, along his stomach. It’s shameful, but dizzyingly hot. What would they feel like now, now that they’ve figured themselves out? Figured each other out? 

He spills out into the water, thinking of finally being able to be whole, but whole with someone else.  
  


⚠

It’s silly to say that they do little besides talking, but it is an accurate summation of them.

Of course, there is beauty in their movement: Chanyeol eventually transitions from his day job at the code center to setting his own hours as an in-house producer for Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and another up-and-coming artist that they sign named Jongdae. They are all powerhouse vocalists in their own right, all easy to write with and mix for, and letting them shine, polishing the metal until its becomes a mirrored surface to reflect their individual strengths is one of the greatest pleasures in his life. Baekhyun still occasionally demands Chanyeol’s backing vocals, and Chanyeol is always happy to oblige him. 

Jongin works his day-job at the fish farm near Chanyeol’s place, and when Chanyeol is able to take the day off, he walks to meet Jongin during his break. Often times, Chanyeol will pack their lunches himself, and they sit by the river as they eat. But eventually, Jongin becomes so recognizable from his features in the live shows that he has people come up to him and ask for quics. He always smiles, clapping his hands together like he can’t quite believe it, and then he poses next to them, throwing up peace signs and finger hearts and smiling handsomely. Chanyeol is often the one taking the quic, and he always makes sure to take a couple. He wants to make sure they get a good one. 

They do plenty, of course, always moving. But together, they talk. 

Chanyeol can’t remember them ever talking so much, sharing so much with one another, even the first time around when nothing had yet soured. It feels as though the circuit was broken, the feed of electricity interrupted and restarted. Not just for one, but for both. 

“We talk to each other like we have therapists,” Jongin comments, smirking as he kicks a small rock into the river. 

Chanyeol picks him up from work sometimes, calls them a car and escorts Jongin home through the bad parts of his neighborhood. But before they leave, they always stand by the river. Talking. 

“That’s a good thing, I think,” Chanyeol says, and he does the same, kicks a little rock and watches it sink to the bottom. 

“It is,” Jongin says. “You feel so open to me.” 

“I am,” Chanyeol says. “Are you open to me?” 

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “And I’m also open to chicken for dinner, if you wanna buy me some.” 

He bats his eyelashes. Completely aware of his beauty. Chanyeol rolls his eyes, turns his back on the water. 

“People never change,” Chanyeol says, exasperated for show. 

Jongin follows close behind, jogging to close the gap and laughing as he goes. He takes Chanyeol’s hand in his when he catches up, laces their fingers together. 

“Yeah, they do,” he says. 

_Yeah_ , Chanyeol thinks. _They do._

_Or at the very least, we did._  
  


⚠

Is he being too careful? He wonders sometimes.

They stand by the water, and the night is glowing blue and purple and red, and Jongin looks into his eyes, looks with so much hope and so much love. _Is that for me?_ , Chanyeol wants to ask. _Would you let me have it, after all this time? ___

“It’s a pretty night,” Jongin says, and the water of the river laps at the bank softly. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, and he brushes hair away from Jongin’s face. “Very pretty.”  
  


⚠

Maybe it’s silly, but he has always waited for Jongin to make the first move. Now, he does it unconsciously. It’s his nature.

They’ve sat on Chanyeol’s couch so often, done this same thing so often. Held each other like this so often. But when Chanyeol looks up at Jongin, it is different. It’s different, it’s so different. There is no grand gesture. There is no moment of clarity before declaration. 

It is just this. Jongin, holding him by the jaw. Jongin, kissing him sweetly. 

Chanyeol shuts his eyes, lets himself feel it. _God_ , it’s nice. It feels like...like home, like music and laughter. Like goodness. Like sweetness that can’t be bought. 

“H-hey,” Chanyeol stutters, hand on Jongin’s chest. “Are you sure?” 

Jongin’s eyebrows knit together. 

“I’m sure,” Jongin says, dotting another kiss to Chanyeol’s lips. He tries not to follow when Jongin pulls back. “Are you sure?” 

“I...I don’t know,” Chanyeol says honestly. 

“You...how could you not know?” Jongin says, and he strokes his thumb along Chanyeol’s cheek. “Since the very start...I’ve always wanted this. And—listen, I don’t know, maybe things have changed for you, but have...have you really lost love for me?” 

“No,” Chanyeol says. “Never once.” 

“Then c-can’t we try again?” Jongin asks. “Haven’t we been careful?” 

“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “We have. But...aren’t you scared?” 

“Scared?” Jongin asks. “Scared of what?” 

“Scared of me,” Chanyeol says, and he can feel the tears sitting in his eyes. 

“ _Baby_ ,” Jongin whines, and he wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s body as he kisses him deeply, licks into Chanyeol’s mouth like he wants to get rid of the words. 

Chanyeol lets himself arch into it because he’s wanted a lot of things in his life, but none so purely as the way he wants to let himself be with Jongin. 

“Baby,” Jongin says. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?” 

“What?” 

“I can’t let myself not do things,” Jongin says, and his eyes water. “I’ve been hurt. And I don’t want that again, but I can’t...I can’t live in fear. I can’t stop myself from doing things that would be good for me just because there’s a chance I might get hurt. I’m not scared of you.” 

“Why not?” Chanyeol says, voice shaking. 

“Because I love you,” Jongin says. “I love you, and you love me. And we’re different than we were.” 

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol says. 

“If I didn’t trust you,” Jongin says, and he leans in, nose against Chanyeol’s, “then I wouldn’t be here. I trust you. I love you.” 

“M-me too,” Chanyeol says. “I love you.” 

“And you trust me?” Jongin asks. 

“I trust you,” he says. “And I want to be with you.” 

“You do?” Jongin asks. 

“I…,” Chanyeol says, taking a deep breath. “I do.” 

Jongin wastes no more time, wastes not even a _second_ more talking.  
  


⚠

It’s real, he reminds himself as they walk to his bedroom.

It’s real, he reminds himself, and Jongin sits on his bed, pulling Chanyeol in by the hem of his shirt. 

It’s real, he reminds himself, as Jongin pulls the shirt over his head by that hem, smiling and dragging Chanyeol down to the bed as he falls back. 

“Hi,” Jongin says, planting a kiss to Chanyeol’s neck. 

“Hi,” Chanyeol says breathlessly. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jongin says. “Not if you don’t want.” 

Chanyeol grins, bites his lip as Jongin rolls on top of him, legs split over Chanyeol’s waist. 

“What do you want?” Chanyeol asks, and his hands settle on Jongin’s waist, on his hips. He lets himself reach under Jongin’s shirt, his fingertips playing over Jongin’s skin. 

“I want to kiss you,” Jongin says softly.

Chanyeol moves a hand, holds Jongin by the back of the neck as he hauls Jongin flat against him. 

“Kiss me, then,” Chanyeol whispers. 

He smiles before he kisses Chanyeol softly, chastely, and he frames Chanyeol’s jaw with his thumbs. It’s special, the way they hold each other. It was not inevitable, this reunion. It was not expected. But here they are, sharing in each other. Touching each other. Loving each other. With passion. With something like honor. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss, until Chanyeol’s mouth is sensitive and he can’t hold back from moaning into Jongin’s mouth. Once it slips out, Jongin echoes it, gives back as good as he gets. It’s music, chords of love, and they sing to each other. Their bodies, their hands. 

“I love you,” Chanyeol says when Jongin breaks them, pressing kisses to the sides of Chanyeol’s face. To the lobe of his ear. “I love you, Jongin.” 

“I love you,” Jongin says, and they embrace. “I’ve always loved you.” 

Love isn’t always good. 

But when it is, it is so, _so _good.__


	26. twenty six: epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update, so make sure you've read chapter 25!

+ _spring_

The spring shows all share the same theme: flowers. 

Jongin has a hand in writing routines now, graduated from principal dancer to principal master. Masters usually don’t perform. But Jongin does. He is too valuable to lose. 

Chanyeol sees all the shows. And Jongin blooms even though he no longer takes center stage. He lets others shine, his own light unable to be dimmed by anyone or anything. 

“Did you like it?” Jongin asks, breathless. He pads out with his ballet shoes still on, still wrapped in purples and golds. The fabric curls away from him, and his face is made-up with gold glitter. 

“I loved it,” Chanyeol says, and he embraces Jongin, careful not to press too hard on the costuming. 

“Stop, stop,” Jongin laughs. “I’m gonna get makeup all over you.” 

“I don’t mind,” Chanyeol says, and he sighs happily when Jongin tucks his face into Chanyeol’s neck. “There you go.” 

“Shut up,” Jongin says, kissing Chanyeol’s neck once before drawing back a bit. “What did you think, theme-wise? What did the choreography tell you? What did it _say_?” 

“I got a lot,” Chanyeol says, and his hands rest comfortably on the small of Jongin’s back. “The biggest thing, though...when the girls fell into your arms, I got, like, _faith_. Is that what you were going for?” 

“Yeah,” Jongin says, and he looks so pleased. “Ah, but you’re too good at analyzing this stuff now. You’re no longer an unbiased eye.” 

“Was I ever?” Chanyeol asks. 

“No,” Jongin says, smiling. “I suppose not. You have a soft spot for me.” 

“I really do,” Chanyeol says, and he kisses Jongin on his sparkly nose. “But for good reason.” 

“Do not start,” Jongin says, covering his face with a hand. “I can’t take it.” 

“Too bad,” Chanyeol says. “You have to deal with it.” 

“All this _love_? How am I to survive?” Jongin says, knees going weak in Chanyeol’s arms so he ends up bearing the brunt of Jongin’s weight. “Carry me home, won’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “I will.”  
  


⚠

+ _summer_

“Do it,” Chanyeol begs. 

“No,” Jongin says. “You have to earn it.” 

“Please,” he whines. “I’ve been so good.” 

“Yeah?” Jongin says. “Have you been good?” 

“Yes,” Chanyeol hisses. “Please, I’m—” 

Jongin smirks and touches his ear before pressing along Chanyeol’s side. The relief is instant. 

“Oh my god, you’re so cold,” Chanyeol says, wrapping around Jongin and sighing happily. “Holy shit, you feel so good.” 

“I know,” Jongin says, confident as he lifts his head to wedge an arm behind it. “One of my many gifts.” 

The sweat dries on Chanyeol’s forehead as he holds Jongin in his arms, the cooling presence incredibly welcome in his bed. He closes his eyes, lets his temperature fall slowly until he no longer needs to hold Jongin so tightly. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from doing so. Just because the necessity is gone doesn’t mean the desire is. 

Chanyeol turns, looks at Jongin. 

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, poking him in the stomach. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Jongin says. 

“Just...for being exactly who you are,” Chanyeol says. 

Jongin pouts until Chanyeol raises himself up to kiss him. They luxuriate in it, spend too much time this way. Making up for lost time, maybe. 

“Cold enough?” Jongin asks. 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. “But keep it on. I like sleeping with the covers.” 

He pulls them up from the bottom of the bed and tucks them around their bodies. It’s good. It’s really very good.  
  


⚠

+ _fall_

It took convincing. A month or two of convincing, plus a couple conversations with Dr. Kang to make sure they weren’t rushing anything. Chanyeol wouldn’t have rushed it. He’s not in that game anymore. At the same time, though, he respects Jongin’s wishes to remain on his own for a while. Jongin makes the choice to move one day, and Chanyeol wraps him in his arms, joyful at the prospect of sharing a home. 

“It took so long because he’s a very proud, independent boy,” Baekhyun says, patting Jongin on the head. “Out to see the world on his own. Secure living quarters on his own. Suck his dick _on his own_!” 

“Grab a box and shut up,” Jongin scoffs. 

He doesn’t move into the spare room. Chanyeol’s equipment has improved, developed, spread like a monster over the area. Now he’s able can do most of his work from home, but usually, he chooses not to. He gets antsy being in the house too long. 

“Set it on the floor,” Jongin says, pointing Baekhyun back to their room. “And don’t go poking around in there!” 

“Why?” Baekhyun’s voice echoes. “Did you take my advice and pick up one of the vibrati—” 

Jongin screeches indignantly, running through the apartment before Chanyeol finds himself listening to Baekhyun’s pleas for mercy. 

“He’s right, you know,” Sehun comments. “You should absolutely get one of those. We use it all the time.”

“Stay out of my sex life,” Chanyeol says. 

Sehun shrugs. “It feels weird not meddling anymore.” 

“Yeah, who would you be without the proper invasion of my privacy?” Chanyeol scoffs. 

“Not just _your_ privacy anymore, though, right?” Sehun smiles. 

“ _Sehun-ah, get in here_ ,” Baekhyun yells. “ _Puppy pile_.” 

“Sorry, it seems as though my talents are needed elsewhere,” Sehun says, and he moves to the bedroom. 

Soon after Sehun exits, he hears the Jongin’s and Baekhyun’s giggles explode. The home is filled with the sounds of laughter, with joy. Chanyeol smiles, unsure of what exactly he did to deserve this, but thankful all the same. 

He walks off to the room, hoping there’s enough room for one more. There always is, but he’ll always hope.  
  


⚠

+ _winter_

Snows have started to fall now, and it’s nice, seeing the way things have gone mild as the months have passed. Altogether, this winter seems much less harsh than the last. Prettier, in some way. They walk along the bank of the river at night, and they keep each other warm. There’s some romance in everything they do now, and even the harshest things seem sanded down, the grit worn soft with time. 

“Are you cold?” Jongin asks quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the moment of calm they’ve found. 

“No,” Chanyeol says, and he squeezes Jongin’s hand in his. “Are you?” 

“No,” Jongin smiles. 

Chanyeol takes a moment to think as they move. Nothing is perfect, but they are not in the pursuit of perfection. Maybe Chanyeol thought once that Jongin was his circuit breaker, the snap in the face of danger, when the electricity thrumming through him was enough to destroy him. But this has never been the nature of them. They are two circuits, separate and thriving now. They cannot break for the other, for they must always break for themselves. 

“Have you ever thought about...about maybe doing this forever?” Jongin asks. 

“Walking?” Chanyeol laughs. 

“Yeah,” Jongin says. “B-but walking with me.” 

“Walking with you,” Chanyeol says. 

“Yeah,” Jongin smiles. “Walking with me.” 

He was always something of a late bloomer, and the words register slow. Slower than the should. Walking with someone forever. Holding hands through journeys to unknown worlds, through days and nights. The night sky is blue, and it pulses with the starlight of eternity, of pasts and futures and the decadent, indulgent in-betweens. The great expanse of history. 

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” Chanyeol says. 

“Me too,” Jongin says. 

“And what do you think, huh?” Chanyeol says. “What conclusion have you come to?” 

“You go first,” Jongin smiles. 

“I think I’d like it,” Chanyeol says. “Walking with you.” 

“Yeah,” Jongin says, and he pulls Chanyeol to a stop, tugs him close until the cold air can touch them no longer. “That’s how I feel too.”  
  


△

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats it. wow. ive rewritten these notes a dozen times now, but i dont ever think ill say exactly what i want bc for some reason, this silly little piece of fanfic means the world to me. 
> 
> this is the longest thing ive ever completed that im actually proud of, and in a way, this is the most personal thing ive ever written, so forgive me for taking some time to wax poetic at the end of it all. though, if youve been following along, you probably expect me to ramble right now. (a lot of you have expressed positive thoughts towards my endnotes—i hope this counts)
> 
> when i wrote the very first scene, i was noodling about on a random monday evening in the middle of july. i never really intended for it to be anything other than that, but for some reason, it just wouldnt leave me alone. from there, i planned on doing a one-shot, one that maxed out at about 10k. and i wanted it to be mostly fluff! 
> 
> obviously, half a year later, a couple armfuls of angst, and ninety thousand words behind me, things did not go according to plan. 
> 
> but really, once i decided that i wanted this story to go somewhere meaningful, i decided i wanted to explore a bunch of things, chief among them being the way that hyperfixation on people can lead you down dangerous roads. i think in fandom, and in kpop especially with the way it encourages really close, unreal close parasocial relationships between fans and idols, its important to realize the way these hyperfixations can go from a healthy way to deal with troubles to an exacerbation of those troubles. 
> 
> i wanted to write what i knew for once. and what i know are these weird messy problems of addiction, of mental illness, of loving people too much, of causing both yourself and others immense (and what seems like irreversible) pain. 
> 
> a circuit breaker is designed to protect a circuit in case of electrical overload. if a fault is detected, a circuit breaker quite literally breaks the circuit. the circuit of mental illness cannot be broken by added circuits. added electricity does not fix the problem as circuits can only be broken by the breaker. an outside force meant to interrupt. change. reset. 
> 
> this story and the themes therein are as much a reminder to myself as they are to anyone who happens across them: everyone you meet, every single person on earth, no matter how larger than life, is just a person. and people are great, are wonderful, can be the best things ever, but you dont have to let them be your healing. you don’t have to let them become your everything. you don’t have to let anything become your everything. the people who have the biggest hearts are the ones who end up throwing themselves into their passions full tilt, and thats because they have so much to give.
> 
> but we’re all very special. we can and should find meaning within. we can be our own everythings, after all, because just you being you is more than enough. and no matter what you’ve done or what you’ve gone through, what mistakes you’ve made, there is always the opportunity to grow and to heal. there is always time to forgive and be forgiven in turn. our stories, no matter how tumultuous, can always have happy endings. it is never too late to ask for help. there will always be someone to turn to in your hour of need. you can do it, no matter what it is. 
> 
> i hope that, if nothing else, that sticks with you. 
> 
> quickly i wanted to thank my friends who listened to me complain about writing, my betas for helping me limp along every week, and everyone who stuck with this mess through every update: i know it wasn’t particularly easy, and i know it probably wasn’t what you expected when you signed up for it but it means the world to me that you kept reading and kept encouraging me. reading and responding to your comments was often times the best part of my week, and it filled me with a great sense of pride to have some readers reach out and say that this affected them positively, even in some small way. i do not consider myself to be a good writer, but i spent countless hours pouring the worst parts of me into this anyway, and seeing those parts of me affirmed and even celebrated has been so touching, so incredibly heartwarming that i’m afraid i can’t possibly thank you enough. i owe you all a life debt (please do not take me up on this, that is too many life debts for one woman to honor) 
> 
> if you liked this story, do me a favor and leave me a comment so that i can thank you properly because the bottom line is this: without you, i would not have finished. 
> 
> and so for the last time for circuit breaker, and from the bottom of my big stupid mushy heart, thank you for reading. i truly, sincerely hope you enjoyed the journey. despite everything, i know i did.  
>   
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


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